


The Psychology of Change

by magifrog



Category: Community (TV)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Changnesia, M/M, Paintball, Sexuality Crisis, call it spaghetti humor because I throw a bunch of jokes against the wall and hope some of them land, they should have never told me I could imagine my own season seven
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-06
Updated: 2020-08-25
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:14:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 24,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25589686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magifrog/pseuds/magifrog
Summary: Troy is back, and he can't remember anything about the circumstances of his arrival."You were gone for a lot longer than you were supposed to be," Britta started softly. "You've been missing for almost two years. We honestly thought you were… well, dead.""Correction:youthought he was dead. I never lost hope." Abed pressed his mouth into a thin smile. "Anyway, now that you're back, we can get back to normal." He quirked his head to the side. "Eventually. I guess we have a mystery to crack first."Features Troy/Abed and Jeff/Craig in equal-ish parts. Takes place after season six, with some season six angst and bittersweet left to work through.
Relationships: Dean Craig Pelton/Jeff Winger, Troy Barnes/Abed Nadir
Comments: 18
Kudos: 75





	1. Cold Open

COLD OPEN 

FADE IN:

INT. STUDY ROOM - DAY

JEFF, BRITTA, FRANKIE, and CHANG sit around the table, deep in conversation. Around them on the walls and windows of the study room hang various cheap-looking Halloween decorations. The conversation is inaudible, but frantic.

One by one they each slowly freeze and look up at the camera. JEFF, BRITTA and CHANG look as though they've seen a ghost. FRANKIE looks mildly confused.

PAN UP to a pair of bare, dirty feet, tattered pants, a torn, stained shirt. TROY BARNES stands in the doorway of the study hall, breathing raggedly.

TROY

(disoriented)

Greendale?

TROY falls to the floor.

END COLD OPEN 


	2. Changnesia 102

"How're you feeling, buddy?" Britta squeezed Troy's arm. She and Jeff were crammed into a tiny room in the nurse's office, huddled around the hospital bed.

"I dunno. This is too weird.” Troy sighed, looking pitiful from his position on the thin paper. "I mean, I really can't remember anything. It's just… blank."

"Do you remember how you got here?" Jeff pressed his fingers together. He looked down and fidgeted with his ring. "Anything that could help us figure out what happened to you?"

"No." Troy stopped, furrowed his brow. Thought really, really, hard. "Well…” He hesitated. “I remember waking up in the water. Not, like, the ocean. I think it was a drainage ditch or something. I found _this_ in my wallet-" He pulled out his student ID. "I figured somebody would know me here."

"I think I have a diagnosis," Britta said, crossing her arms and looking at Jeff knowingly.

"Can we not do this? Seriously."

"Oh, c'mon, Jeff. I may not have a 'license-'" She emphasized the word with finger quotes. "-but I've done pleeenty of therapy on lots of people already."

"I don't think you 'do' therapy on people," Jeff protested, but Britta turned back to Troy with that overconfident, all-knowing smile.

“The answer is simple.” She moved her hands in a slow arc as though performing a magic trick. "I diagnose you with Changnesia."

"Oh. Okay. Cool." Troy nodded.

"No, not cool. First of all, that is a made-up disease for pretend doctors."

" _Therapists_."

"Con artists.” Britta gasped, offended. ”Point two. What's the connection to Chang here? Why wouldn't it be called Troynesia- or, or, Barnesnesia? Barnesia? No, wait-" Jeff sputtered, shaking his head. " _Am_ nesia. Just call it the actual, medical name."

"Who's Chang?"

"Oh, you'll find that out soon enough." Britta pressed her lips together and patted Troy's shoulder. She turned back to Jeff and murmured, "Hey, have you called...?"

"Not yet. I wanted to assess the damage before- oh. Looks like we didn't have to."

As if on cue, a figure emerged from the hall at an alarmingly high speed. Abed, his hair a little longer and more unkempt, darted straight to Troy's side, taking his hand. His facial expression stayed flat as usual, but his darting eyes revealed the concern and worry he felt.

"Troy?"

"I'm sorry. I don't…" Troy squeezed his eyes closed, trying to call upon his limited memory. "I- I know you're important to me, but I dunno why. I can’t remember anything."

"Ah." Abed sighed. "Let me guess. You have Changnesia?"

"Oh, god. Can we all agree to call it _anything_ else?"

"Britta. Jeff." Abed gave them a polite nod before redirecting his full attention back to Troy. "It's fine. It’s not your fault. Every reunion episode needs a hook. I'm sure you'll remember me by the end."

"Hey." Britta lightly pulled him away by the shoulder. "How did you get here so fast, anyway?"

"Hm? Oh. Pierce’s boat was spotted wrecked on the side of the highway a week ago. I have an intricate alert system running on my phone for any news reports containing the keywords 'Childish Tycoon' and 'Troy Barnes.'" Abed paused. "And 'Inspector Spacetime season 13 leaks,' but that's basically irrelevant."

"Huh? Why?" Troy seemed confused. "Why would you guys be looking for me so hard?"

"Well, you were gone for a lot longer than you were supposed to be," Britta started gently. "You've been missing for almost two years. We honestly thought you were… well, dead."

"Correction: _you_ thought he was dead. I never lost hope." Abed pressed his mouth into a thin smile. "Anyway, now that you're back, we can get back to normal." He quirked his head to the side. "Eventually. I guess we have a mystery to crack first."

"Wait, hold on." Jeff stood up. "You don't think there's something strange about this? I mean, Troy was about to be pronounced _legally_ dead. Why would he show up now, just before the deadline, with no memory of how he got here?"

"Precisely. That's why it's a mystery, try to keep up." Abed pulled out his smartphone, began typing notes into it.

" _That's_ what phones look like now?!" Troy's eyes went wide.

"Okay, cool it, drama queen.” Jeff rolled his eyes. “It’s been two years, not two decades.”

+++

"So what's with the ring?"

Jeff and Abed were alone in the waiting room. Britta had put herself in charge of squeezing information from Troy's memories, and they sat in an awkward silence in the lobby that was truthfully probably far more awkward for Jeff than it was for Abed.

"I… am… married."

"Oh. Cool cool. I guess I never pegged you for the kind of guy who'd settle down."

"Yeah, well, it kind of just happened."

"You and Britta made an impulse decision?"

"No." Jeff let out a brief, curt laugh. "Uh, no. Not Britta. Um- I'm sorry for not inviting you to the wedding. I know you would have loved taping the whole thing."

"It's cool. I was busy. You were busy." And Jeff had forgotten how much he loved Abed, because there were no probing questions, there was no passive aggression. Just a simple reply to a simple apology.

"Alright." Britta briskly walked out into the lobby, hands up in submission. "I can't make any progress. I think, in my humble _non-licensed_ opinion, that it's probably better if we all try together."

+++

"Hey, Troy."

"Hey, Abed." Troy smiled, then gripped the blankets and looked between the three of them, confused. "Whaaat? I remembered your name."

"Wh-" Britta was furious. "You just did in two seconds what I've been trying to do for the past twenty minutes!"

"Old habits die hard," Abed smirked.

"Oh! Die Hard! I remember that!" Troy sat up, pointing excitedly.

"Yeah, but do you remember its status as a Christmas movie or a non-Christmas movie?" Abed looked at him intensely under knitted brows. "Answer carefully, your life may depend on it." 

"Okay, enough." Jeff pulled Troy's thumb away from where he'd been biting it in apprehension. "Let's just talk normally, catch up. I'm sure if we keep talking long enough, we'll hit something Troy remembers."

"Flashback episode. Not a bad idea, but kind of awkward timing for a season premiere. Not great for a reunion ep, either."

"What happened to letting go of thinking of life as a show?"

"Oh, it got waaay worse in L.A."

"Great."

"...so, anyway, that's how moving in with Jeff went." Britta laughed. No one else did.

"I don't know how you ruined a story with that many cat-related hijinks involved," Troy droned, flopped over on the bed in the world's most bored position.

"Oh, I Britta'd it. That's kind of my thing where I ruin everything, remember, except I reclaimed it?" Britta tried her best at a smug smile. She was cross-legged in a stiff waiting room chair, clearly uncomfortable but too stubborn to change positions now.

"Maybe we should talk about some stories from when Troy knew us." Jeff rested his chin in his hand, leaning on the arm of his chair. "I mean, our lives haven't been quite as interesting with everyone gone. Normal-people interesting, maybe, but not Greendale interesting."

"No, I want to hear again about Britta's first time ever filing taxes." Abed leaned forward in mock interest.

"Dude!" Troy almost-screamed.

"Did somebody say 'dean?'" 

“No…?”

“Well here I am, here to see one of my favorite former students!” A welcome interruption entered the room, chipper as ever. He hadn’t changed a bit, wearing the same crisp tie and off-white dress shirt tucked into a pair of ill-fitting slacks. "Ooh. Standing room only, I see."

"Hey, babe." Jeff reached for the dean's hand and squeezed it before dropping it embarrassedly and clearing his throat.

"Babe?" asked Abed.

"Babe?" asked Troy.

"Well, it's good to see your smiling faces again!" The dean leaned down to Jeff's ear. "Although, honey, I really wish you would have called me the second he got here. I didn't have time to get into the nurse's costume I had planned." He stood to address the rest of the group, waving his hand forward. "It was a whole thing. I haven't had a chance to use my giant stethoscope in aaages."

"Honey?" asked Abed.

"Nurse's costume?" asked Troy.

"It really is Changnesia if you don't remember that," Britta mumbled.

"Okay, I guess I should explain some things." Jeff fixated back on his ring, too flustered to look either of them in the eye. "Yes, the dean and I are mar-"

"Pierce was right. You really are gay." Abed nodded, satisfied. "Full circle."

"Okay. First of all, Pierce was wrong. I am _clearly_ bisexual, and there's nothing wrong with that. Second of all, why is that the first thing everyone says? Can't I get a _congratulations_ , or a _hey, Jeff, cool that you figured your life out_ before we go validating an old man's crazy theories?"

"Who's Pierce?"

"Mmm, it might be better if you don't remember him, actually," Britta said as she winced.

"Okay, you have to tell us." Abed leaned forward with actual eagerness this time.

"Tell you what?" Jeff frowned.

"Oh, come on, silly billy. Abed wants to know the story of how we fell in love."

"Ah. Well, I think we should be focusing more on Troy and figuring out his story-"

"Who's Troy?"

The whole group turned to look at him with intense concern.

"Nah, just kidding. Got you guys though." He pointed around the room and chuckled.

A chorus of _oh, thank god._

"Listen, Jeff. Dean. I think this could be good. Kind of a Princess Bride-style story within a story."

"No, that's okay. I'm sure Craig is very busy with his important work-"

"Oh, nonsense.” The dean flapped his hand in dismissal. “This is the first time the O.G. study group has been even close to back together in forever. I can't let some silly paperwork stand in the way of that."

"Does the paperwork stand in the way of us getting the grant for soundproofing the music room? Because if I have to teach one more class to the sound of the french horn, divorce is on the table."

"Oh, Jeffrey." The dean smiled and laid a hand delicately on his shoulder, before looking down and seeing the decidedly-not-joking look on Jeff's face. "Oh. Jeffrey. Okay, toooodle-oo."

"Hey, uh-" The male nurse, round, grey-haired, and annoyed, knocked on the doorframe, barely avoiding being bowled over by the dean. "Are you all done in here yet? Because I do have a student with a dislocated limb waiting for this room."

Britta glared daggers at the nurse with a ferocity she usually reserved for libertarians. "I can dislocate more limbs if you don’t leave right now.”

"No, guys, it's okay." Troy slid off of the hospital bed awkwardly. "See? I'm good. Why don't we, uh, go look around? I know I remember the study room."

"Sure, but we'll have to wait until after five. The french horns have the room today," answered Jeff, clearly vexed.

"Oh, okay." Troy paused. "Isn't that in the library, though? How does anyone-"

"Yep. Welcome back to Greendale," Abed replied, throwing an arm around Troy and helping him out of the room.


	3. Declaring a Major: What You Should Know

"So... it's a book now?" Jeff asked, annoyed.

"Yeah, I figured it would be a little more relevant to our situation. I mean, maybe not a full-fledged book. Maybe more of a novella. The junior novelization of the show."

"I have to say, as much as I missed you, Abed-" Jeff stopped himself, realizing he was leaking emotion. "Not to get too sappy. But as much as I missed you, I definitely didn't miss the whole meta thing."

"Ah, yes, the emotionally-stunted Winger archetype. It's not quite the same as the original, maybe a little contrived, but similar enough most readers won't put the book down."

"Will you stop?"

"Never."

Troy arrived, looking clean and fresh, although Jeff's crisp button-up looked odd and too-formal.

"Oh, hey. Callback to season one. Nice."

"Okay, seriously. We have work to do, and Troy isn't getting any better with us just sitting here."

"Actually…" Troy looked around.

The study room was the same as always, but different. The table hadn't moved from its spot, and it still bore the _Table Mk II_ inscription on the surface. But there was more clutter around it now than before, more charts and lists and action plans scattered about. 

Troy remembered how much Annie loved that kind of thing, planning everything down to the tiniest detail even when she knew full well everything could, and would, go wrong.

"I’m remembering... Annie, here.” Troy rested his fingertips on the spot where she used to sit. “She was the smart one, right? Pretty blue eyes, huge b…inders."

"Nice save.” Jeff let himself smile. “She, uh, was your roommate and one of your best friends.”

"Cool. Where is she now? Can we see her?"

"No. Not for a while. She's going to school in D.C. for forensics. Still schedules a video chat every couple weeks, though."

"Ah. Yeah." Jeff scratched his jaw awkwardly. He hadn't gone to one of those in a few months.

"Man, that's cool. So, she's like one of those CSI guys? I wish I was doing something like that." Troy took a moment to imagine the possibilities, grinning. "Oh, yeah, hey. What was my major?"

"Uh…" Jeff turned to Abed, who shrugged.

"Wait, you guys don't know either?"

"You were a complicated guy," Jeff tried, but Troy clearly wasn't having it.

"Unbelievable. How am I supposed to get any of my memories back if you don't even remember? It's like- It's like 50 First Dates, except- except if Adam Sandler forgot he was even supposed to get the girl and he just messed around on the beach!"

"Oh good, you're all caught up on the past two years of Adam Sandler flicks." Jeff said flatly.

"Low-hanging fruit, Winger."

"Okay, so what _do_ you guys remember about me? I mean, we were here for six years, right?"

"I think you were only there for four and a half? Right?" Jeff racked his brains. "Well, you're handsome, athletic, not-so-secretly kind of a dork. Oh- one time we jumped on a secret trampoline together for hours, that was fun and weird."

"You like Inspector Spacetime, but not the Minerva seasons. We used the Dreamatorium to create our own episodes. And you used to make the best buttered noodles, so I would make you do it all the time, until you said 'Listen, Abed, there's only really one way to make buttered noodles,' and I said-"

"Okay, okay." Troy closed his eyes, overwhelmed, and gripped the backs of the chairs for balance. "Maybe we should try something different. That's waaay too much random information."

"Sorry I'm late!" Britta walked in, bouncing, with a stack of manila folders in her arms.

"What is all that?" Jeff asked.

"Troy's transcripts."

"Is that allowed?"

"It is if you sneak past Frankie's desk while she's having her yogurt time."

"Who's Frankie?"

"Oh, you'll figure it out."

"I'm still in favor of a flashback episode. Or story-within-a-story. As long as Britta's not narrating it." Abed cut in, looking across the table at Jeff pointedly.

"No, we'll look at the transcripts first." He leaned over the table to open them, willing to try anything that didn't involve delving deeper into his love life. Which, ironically, hadn't been an issue when Abed assumed he and Britta were together. Why was he even interested?

After poring over the transcripts, Troy still didn't have a clear understanding of who he was supposed to be.

"Astronomy? Hairstyling? _Modern Dance?_ " He held his head in his hands. "These are literally just random classes. I mean, this Troy guy spent _years_ just messing around. This is me?"

"Hey-" Britta opened her mouth, offended, but Jeff quickly cut in.

"No, Troy. You were a person who wanted to broaden his horizons. You weren't in school to pursue some- some meaningless piece of paper on a wall. You were here to learn and grow, and that's also why you left."

"Couldn't have said it better myself." Abed nodded.

"Yeah, but what am I supposed to do with this? I mean, I have no degree, no money, and a bunch of student loans that are probably gonna start harassing my family members six months ago."

"Well, if you hide out a few days until they pronounce you legally dead, they can't technically collect. Then we just go buy you a new identity, and when the identity guy comes to collect, you just fake your death and buy a new new identity." Britta stared back at the group. "What? It's literally how I survived in New York for so long. Rent ain't cheap, y'know."

"Wait. Wait!" Jeff froze, his hands outstretched. "Oh, holy shit, Troy, we all forgot the most important part. You're a millionaire!"

"I'm a millionaire?!"

"He's a millionaire!" Britta hugged Troy as he jumped up and down.

From the shadows of the library, someone peeked around a book cart at the ruckus in the study room.

+++

"I've decided."

"That was fast."

They were huddled around a course catalog in the pale rays of early morning sun. Abed was jet-lagged, so he had been up anyways, Jeff had spare time before class, and Britta was forcing herself to pull an all-nighter for Troy's sake after her late night bartending shift. Frankie, ever-helpful, was calculating the credits Troy needed to earn a degree- any degree.

"Okay, what is it?" Abed asked impatiently. "Ooh, if you did acting you could come home with me and work on my web show."

"As much as I love Spiderman, Abed, I think I have the best shot at the AC repair certificate."

"Dear God," Abed muttered. "It's like I don't even know you anymore." He frowned. "Also, not what a web show is. But great guess."

"It _is_ the subject Troy has the most credits in," Frankie pointed out. "It would take him maybe a half a year to graduate."

“Isn’t the annex supposed to be like this crazy cult?” Jeff asked. “I hate having to go anywhere near there.”

“It’s gotten a lot better in the past few months after the faculty purge.”

"Yeah, and…" Troy looked down, licked his lips nervously. "I didn't tell you guys, but there is something really important I remember from the boat."

"Well? Tell us!" Britta all but shrieked.

"Okay. So, I was locked in this tiny room on a ship, cramped, hot, no water or anything. I don't know how long it was. It could have been hours, days, weeks." A dark look flashed across Troy's face. "I was… waiting to die. It was so hot I thought I would melt. I couldn't breathe, I was covered in sweat." His palms were moist thinking about it, and he quickly wiped them on his borrowed jeans.

He remembered the dark room, and the whir of machinery, the long hours of nothing interspersed with frantic moments when his captor arrived to give him the bare minimum, when he’d fear each visit would be the last.

"Oh, no," Frankie murmured comfortingly, putting a hand on his arm. The concern seemed half-sincere, half-financially-motivated.

"I looked up at the ceiling, praying to any god who would answer to just end it. And then I saw that beautiful panel." Troy smiled. "That air conditioner saved me. I fixed it up, and when it broke, I fixed it again. Nothing in my life felt better than those first few breaths of frosty air."

"Oh, Troy..." Britta wiped her moist eyes with the striped sleeve of her shirt before anyone noticed. Jeff and Abed sat silent, relatively unmoved.

"Yeah, uh… anyways, I get AC repair is lame, but, like… I dunno. It’s something useful."

"Well, I'm sure the annex would be delighted to have you. They seemed very eager to hear from you when they heard you were back in town." Frankie smiled and started gathering up the literature.

"Come on, Troy. Don't you think you're meant for more?" Abed protested. "I mean, you have millions of dollars. You could use that money to make the best video game ever. Or the best movie. Or make an app that borrows just enough from Angry Birds to still be original."

"God, is that still a thing that's relevant? It's 2016, people."

"Okay, Jeff, just because you _suck-_ "

"Well, I mean…" Troy basically ignored Jeff and Britta's argument, focusing in on Abed. "I gotta figure out who I am, and whoever I was had a history with AC repair. How else can you explain these skills?" He wiggled his fingers comically.

"You're right. I can't." Abed frowned. "That doesn't mean you have to choose now."

"Abed, look at me." Troy gestured at himself. "I spent how many years being indecisive? I mean, I even went out to sea to figure out what kind of person I wanted to be, and I came back with Changnesia and a mild case of scurvy. This is probably the closest thing that I've ever had to a sense of direction. True?"

"True," Abed grumbled. "I don't have to like it, though. I didn't like you leaving, either."

"Yeah. I'm sorry I left. I'm sorry everything is so complicated now."

"Jeff! They’re defenseless, cute little pixelated animals! You take that back!"

"No! It's a horrid, soulless little app and you cheated!"

"Soooo… flashback episode?"


	4. Introduction to Traumatic Flashbacks

"Okay, well, I was trying to do the thing where I end the chapter on a memorable line, and then we'd skip to the part where Jeff tells us his story, but clearly that didn't work."

"Did you have to use the A-word?" Frankie complained.

All three of them were huddled under the table as Jeff and Britta continued their shouting match well past the point of a reasonable time skip.

"Yesterday they were playing phone Scrabble to decide whose turn it was to do the dishes," Troy said. "By the time I was done doing all the dishes, Britta had beat Jeff like three times."

"Yes, they do this a lot." Frankie bit her lip. "Britta would actually probably be homeless if she wasn't so good at mobile games."

"Let me guess. She and Jeff had some kind of grand tournament to decide if she'd move in with him or back with her parents. Lots of training montages, a failed Chang sabotage, maybe even espionage…"

"Quite the barrage," Troy interjected, which earned him a fistbump.

"AND ANOTHER THING, I DON'T THINK THE TABLE JOSTLING LAST NIGHT WAS FAIR-"

"In any case," said Frankie delicately, "I don't think three adults were meant to live in one condo, especially if one of them is Britta." She paused. "Oh, that's not- I’m not trying to be judgemental. I love Britta. It's just that the night she slept on my couch, I spent four days finding half-eaten containers of my yogurt tucked behind various pieces of furniture."

"Eh, I've had worse," said Abed. "But yeah. Jeff needs his space. I get it."

"You really like yogurt," said Troy. 

“I... like yogurt a normal amount?”

"What in the dean is going on in here?" Dean Pelton, savior of the study group-slash-committee, burst into the room with the brilliance of a hundred suns.

"I can explain," Jeff said breathlessly, letting go of Britta's hair.

"Oh, not this again. Now you know I judged the results fair and square, Jeffrey."

"It was technically a tie!"

"It was not!"

"It is _in the past_ ," the dean said in a strangely authoritative tone. "Now. There is a certain Pre-Law 104 class that is waiting for its instructor, and a certain patch of sunshine on a pleather couch at home begging for someone to nap in it. Off with you."

Jeff and Britta shambled toward the door, glaring at each other as they parted ways and walked down separate hallways.

"Okay. I can see the dynamic. He keeps them both grounded while ironically being individually wackier than either one." Abed slid out between the chairs.

"Ow," Troy said as he slammed his head on the edge of the table.

"Oh- Troy, are you alright?"

"I'm fine, I'm fine." He stopped abruptly, slowly turning to look at Frankie and Abed with his eyes popped open. "Wait- That blow to the head, it made me remember everything!"

"What? Really?"

"No. Got you good though."

"Right. As much as I can appreciate amnesia-related humor, I have to go take care of some things now." Frankie dusted herself off, adorably stiff as always. "Will you boys be all right if I leave you?"

"Please. We'll be fine." Abed managed a thin smile. He had gotten better at that in the past year.

"Good luck," said Frankie, giving them a little half-nod-half-bow as she swept down the hallway.

"So… no flashback episode, then?" Troy asked.

"Well, we can still do one with just us." Abed took Troy's hand and led him out into the library.

"Where are we going?"

"Where dreams become reality."

+++

"So this is the Dreamatorium?"

"Well, not exactly. The real one was way bigger than this. This is the _emergency_ Dreamatorium."

They stood in a supply closet that had been painted black and marked over with orange tape in a grid pattern. Miraculously, it had remained relatively untouched throughout the years, despite clear signs that Starburns had holed up there for a few days at some point.

Abed swept the cigarette butts and dirty rags into the trash bin, then squished himself into the dim closet with Troy.

"Okay. I kind of remember this." Troy looked around, letting reality shift a little to the left. "Whoa."

"Here. Hold on to me. We're going to go back in time to my happiest memory."

"Cool." Troy wrapped his arms around Abed tightly, and they lifted off, ascending rapidly through the matrix of orange lines until there was only the darkness of space around them.

Here, in this vast empty, they were cold and alone, and Troy wondered if he should have majored in heating unit repair instead for a moment before a star appeared on the horizon. It started as a faint point of light, then expanded, bigger and brighter, until it enveloped them both-

They were in the blanket fort in the apartment they shared with Annie.

"This seems familiar."

"Good. You lived here. We lived here."

"Is that us?" Troy peered through the blankets out at the two figures in the living room.

"Yep. Oh, but you can't interact with them. They're shadows of the past. Kinda the whole, _Christmas Carol_ type rules."

"What are we doing?"

"Nothing." Abed smiled, staring longingly out at the two of them watching TV. "Absolutely nothing."

Troy crept out into the living room, looking around curiously. It was so familiar and comforting, the wood paneling, the weird green tile, the smell of popcorn and Annie's fabric refresher, the posters and memorabilia scattered on every wall and surface.

In front of the television, Dream Troy and Abed sat in a nest of pillows, snacking on a bowl of potato chips. The screen didn’t seem to hold any one image, flicking between various B-movie scenes. Troy guessed they’d probably marathoned them so many times that they all just blended together. Things were coming back to him. He remembered having these nights, when everything was still right in the world, and a cozy, warm sensation settled over his shoulders.

And then the room flickered.

"Troy?"

"I don't know what's happening!" The room flickered in and out of existence, and Abed leaped for Troy's hand before the scene changed again.

It was dark. Troy was covered in sweat, wearing a dirty, battered tank top, desperately rooting around inside an AC unit.

"C'mon, c'mon-"

A clank in the hallway. Something metal sickeningly grating against concrete. The sound was growing closer.

"Shit. Shitshitshit." He closed the panel as quietly as he could and scrambled to the corner of the room.

"Dinner." The door opened, and a tray scraped across the concrete floor with the world's saddest-looking grilled cheese and a handful of baby carrots resting on top.

Troy waited for the door to close.

As soon as the footsteps faded into the distance, he descended on the meal with a fervor. The sandwich was torn apart in seconds and deposited straight into Troy's stomach. The carrots he cared less for, so he ate all except one.

He took a piece of scrap metal from the AC unit and carefully carved a face into it until it looked vaguely like Abed. Then he huddled in the corner and let the tears fall.

"I'm sorry." They were back in the Dreamatorium, black and orange. Abed was wrapped around Troy as physically close as they could get, resolved to never let go this time.

"I'm fine. I'm fine," Troy kept repeating, more to convince himself than anyone else.

"I didn't realize the Dreamatorium could glitch out like that. I'm so sorry."

"It's okay. I'll- I'll be okay." He pushed his face into Abed's sweater and kept it there.

Beyond comforting his best friend, there was something admittedly almost more pressing bouncing around in Abed’s mind. Something that didn’t add up about the memory.

But he’d table it for now. He rubbed circles into Troy’s back.


	5. Advanced Storyception

Jeff Winger had had a horrible week.

"Really? That's how you're gonna start what could be the most romantic story of the decade? It seems a little overly-simplistic."

"Don't push your luck, Abed. I already regret telling this story, and I'm only a sentence in."

"I'm just saying-"

Fine. Jeff Winger had had a _horrible, awful, terrible, no-good week_. Are you satisfied?

Jeff was sitting in an empty study room, a half-hour into a meeting everyone but Frankie had forgotten about. She, at least, had texted him to inform him of her absence. The rest, well, they had no excuses.

In any case, it was the last in a long line of disappointments. His January performance review had come with stipulations- he would have to actually teach the class he'd managed to blow off the past three years, or be fired. The problem was, he had no idea how to even go about starting a lesson plan, and he'd wanted input from Frankie and the dean, at least, and now nobody was showing up or answering his calls. Not even Chang, for chrissakes.

After the last class of the day, he headed for the bar. There was one comfort he could always fall back on, and that was the rich, smooth taste of Scotch as it passed through his lips and burned in his belly. He could forget about his hurt feelings for at least the next few hours.

"Hey, Jeff."

"Hey. The usual?" He smiled at Britta as though they didn't see each other every day. Actually, that was getting rarer and rarer as Britta got more invested in her job. She worked overnight and slept during the day, and Jeff worked during the day and slept, annoyingly enough, right up until she came home drunk and noisy with a dozen cans of cat food clanking around in a plastic bag.

Lost in thought, he had forgotten he wanted to talk to her, and he quickly waved her over again.

"Yeah?"

"Hey, can I ask you about something?"

"Jeff-" Britta groaned. "I'm in the middle of weaponizing my femininity to yoink the cash out of these guys' wallets and into my tip jar."

"Hey, we can hear you, y'know!"

"Fine." If she wasn't going to give him the time of day, Jeff was allowed to be petty. "I just wanted to ask why you weren't at the meeting today."

"I was sleeping!" Britta folded her arms. "Besides, I'm _barely_ a Greendale student anymore. Yeah, I still wanna be a therapist, but right now I just don't have time to do work _and_ school _and_ keep you guys company in the middle of the day."

"It's fine. I get it."

"Come on, quit being so sorry for yourself. Some of us can't just _coast_ , Winger."

"What? _Me_ , coasting? I pay your rent, you know!" He was arguing to her back. She had moved on.

He headed home after he’d finished his drink.

Jeff made a decision when he walked up the stairs and into the hallway. He was pretty desperate at this point for any human interaction, and pretending to teach his classes didn't really count. He missed Annie. He missed Abed. He missed Elroy. He missed Hickey. He missed Shirley. He missed Troy. Hell, he even missed Pierce. But there was one person left that wouldn't dare abandon him.

"Oh, the drunken confession. Not my favorite trope, but it's pretty on-brand."

"Can I tell the story, or are you going to keep making little remarks? Seriously, I am letting you into a part of my life that I don't like to share."

"I think the best thing for Troy is to keep the narrative framing device consistent. He's had a traumatic few days."

"Troy. Do _you_ have any objections to me telling the story, or do we have to pick apart every movie thing that happens?"

"Hey, don't look at me!"

"Great. Continuing."

Anyway, Jeff walked up the stairs- no, okay, I said that already. Jeff knocked on the door. But... it wasn't his door. That was on purpose.

The dean answered, looking equal parts confused and delighted.

"Jeffrey. What brings you-"

"Drunk. Wrong door. Coming in anyway."

Jeff immediately flopped down on the couch, and the dean rushed to cover him with a throw blanket.

"Now, I know our units have pretty much the same layout, but the bathroom is down the hall to the left. If you need me-"

"I do."

"Oh. Oh?" The dean perked up, then shook his head. "No, no, Jeffrey, let's not say or do anything we'd regret when we're sober. I assure you, I may be a little bit of a pushover, but I have very strict rules about hooking up under the influence-"

"What? God, no! I just wanted you to sit with me for a minute."

"Oh. Well, that's okay, too." The dean obediently sat with a little bounce on the couch next to him, right at his feet.

There was an awkward silence in which Jeff wondered if it was too late to roll off the couch and bolt.

"Well…?"

"Well what?"

"What's wrong? I mean… I know you wouldn't come here willingly, even though my overly-optimistic letters to my parents would have them believe otherwise."

"I just…" Jeff laid back, staring at the ceiling. He took a deep breath. The scotch had loosened him up enough that he was willing to go through with the whole heart-to-heart thing. "Nobody showed up for the meeting. Nobody showed up for the last one. And they're not every day anymore, either. They're weekly."

"We show up for Friday night at Britta's."

"Yeah, but that's not enough. I mean, I had people who were really invested in me. I was almost never alone. And now, I'm just a washed-up professor with almost no friends outside of work." Jeff wrapped the blanket tighter around himself. "Nobody even notices me anymore. Nobody points and says, 'Look, it's the cool guy from paintball!' and gives me a high-five in the hall. Nobody asks for my major flirtatiously before realizing, yes, actually, I _am_ the teacher. People walk past and don't even look at me."

"I do."

"I know you do. You're the only person who still looks at me like I'm _somebody_ anymore."

And the dean gently put his hand on Jeff's calf, and looked at him. 

He looked at him like he was somebody.

"Okay, I'm not saying that was cute, but that was a little bit cute."

"Can it, Troy."

"I dunno. I have more questions than answers at this point in the narrative. Plus there's some stuff I feel like you're not entirely saying."

"Abed is right. I don't remember you being quite so articulate." Dean Pelton put his hands on Jeff's shoulders from behind, and he jumped. "Also, he vomited on my shoes," the dean stage whispered from a cupped hand.

"God- Craig, we discussed sneaking up on people. Namely, me."

"Okay, technically, I wasn't actually trying this time. But sorry, hon." The dean pecked Jeff on the lips, and Troy and Abed watched with fascination. Of course, this definitely wasn't the first time Abed had seen two men kiss. He lived in Los Angeles. But it was the first time he'd seen _Jeff_ kiss another man.

"I talked to Frankie about the school's dance budget," continued the dean, putting a hand on his hip, "and she said 'no' to a welcome-back-Troy party. Can you believe that?"

"Yes." Jeff looked up at him with a sudden concern. "Is this you asking me to buy party supplies with my credit card?"

"Oh, Jeffrey... You know me too well." The dean puffed out his chest as if to say, _isn't that cute?_ "But- well- I already blew my allowance on a giant syringe to go with my giant stethoscope."

"I'd ask why, but I know I already don't understand the answer."

"Accessories, Jeffrey, accessories."

"Uh, hey?" Troy waved his hands to try and get their attention.

"Wow. It's like they're in their own little world." Abed shook his head. "Jeff and the dean. _Inconceivable_."

"Nice."

"Nice." 

"It feels like I should be doing something with my hands when we do that." Troy flapped them around for a second, trying to activate his muscle memory. "Anyway, should we break this up?"

"Nah. It's probably time to transition back to the A story. Let's go." Abed slung his book bag back around his shoulder and took Troy's hand.

"Guys?" called Jeff as they walked out.

"Wow." The dean gasped indignantly. "How rude. I was going to tell them _my_ side of what happened that night."

"I mean, that would probably be redundant. It was pretty much the same," Jeff shrugged.

"Well, _yooou're_ pretty much the same handsome man I fell in love with," the dean cooed, and Jeff reluctantly allowed it.


	6. Sexuality in Science Fiction

"What is all this?"

"We're planning a little something," said Frankie, scribbling on a sticky note and decisively slapping it to the wall of her office.

"I thought the dean said we weren't having a welcome-back-Troy party."

"No, I said he couldn't use school funds to throw a private party. I'm not a monster."

"Where _is_ Troy?" Britta asked. She was rooting through a cardboard box of supplies, triumphantly producing an untouched pack of balloons.

"Oh, he needed some alone time in the Dreamatorium. Probably something we can cut to when this scene starts to out-stay its welcome."

"Okay, Abed." Britta took him by the shoulders and sat him in Frankie's chair. "You've been unusually snarky since you got here, and I know you use meta humor to distance yourself and avoid saying what you actually feel. I get it. I'm worried about Troy, too."

"It's not that. Well, it is, but it's not." Abed huffed and lolled his head back and forth.

"Listen. This is a safe space. You can open up to me." Britta looked up and pointed aggressively at the door. "Frankie, leave the room."

"Wh- This is my office."

"Frankie, I swear to god-"

"No, it's fine. I trust her. She can stay." Abed took a deep breath. "I just think something's wrong with Troy's story. There are things that don't add up."

"Okay. Like what?"

"Well, for starters, why would it take him a week to get to Greendale if the boat was found less than two miles from the school? Why was the boat shipwrecked on land? Where is LeVar Burton?" Abed raised a bent finger to his chin and put on his best quizzical expression.

“Well, we can raise those questions at the committee meeting. I’ve been doing some digging in my spare time,” Frankie offered. 

“That’s not all.” Abed raised a finger like a detective in a parlor room scene. "When we were in the emergency Dreamatorium earlier, he had a memory of being locked up in a ship, but the floor didn't rock."

"And you don't think that's because the supply closet is part of a mostly-stable, non-rocking building?"

"No. There's no limit to the power of imagination. If Troy felt rocking, it would have been in the memory."

"Wait. One of our supply closets is an emergency Dreamatorium? For how long? Where?"

"Cool it, Frankie. The janitors have plenty of closets, we can borrow _one_ of them." Britta rolled her eyes, then looked back at Abed.

"We? Wait, Britta, why do you know where it is?"

"Uhhh… Um! Hey! It's about time to cut to Troy, don't you think?" she said, wheeling Abed's chair towards the office door.

"Britta- you didn’t.” Abed looked inconsolable. “Britta, the Dreamatorium is a sacred place-”

"Cut away! Cut away!" She pushed him out of the office, sending him spinning slowly down the hall of the faculty building.

Frankie rubbed her temples, then stuck another post-it to the wall.

+++

Troy was lost in a memory, but not the scary boat-prison kind.

He'd gone back to what Abed had shown him in their old apartment. 

There were blurry parts where he couldn't quite remember what had been there or where- a large, round table flickered in and out of a spot that it had definitely been at some point, but wasn't always. 

There was-and-was-not a purple scarf Annie sometimes put over the table lamp for mood lighting. It immediately reminded him of the part in _Earth Girls Are Easy_ when Geena Davis set her living room on fire. He decidedly blinked the scarf out of existence, as much as he loved Jeff Goldblum.

He wandered around the memory, just touching things. The lavender curtains Annie picked out for the living room window one payday. The Constable Reggie figurine hanging out on the kitchen counter for no discernible reason. The endless rows of DVDs lining the bookshelf the TV sat precariously on top of. Buttered noodles in the microwave with the middle still cold.

There was one thing that was constant in every single iteration of the apartment, and that was the door to the Dreamatorium- the real one. Troy took a step towards it, unsure what he'd find if he went in.

He turned the doorknob very slowly for maximum suspense.

"Heh. Dream within a dream. Nice."

It wasn't a memory he stepped into. Or maybe it was a memory of a fantasy. He and Abed were standing at the crest of a hill, arm in arm, surveying the burning ruins of Neo-Roma as the confusingly-named dread emperor Neo-Nero played a chilling violin solo in the midst of the chaos.

"Well, Constable. It looks like we've failed. History repeated itself once again."

"Yeah." Troy- Dream Troy seemed dejected. "So I guess this means we don't get to-"

"We could anyway." Dream Abed's persona slipped, his face softened. Oh, how unprofessional.

"You think? I mean, I guess burning Rome is a pretty cool backdrop, if you don't think about the, uh, screams of the dying down there."

"Ahem." Dream Abed closed his eyes, got back into character. "Constable, in these unimaginably vast cosmos, in the random pluckings of the threads that hold this universe together… there are certain events that must happen, and happen again, and again, and again. Some call it fate, or destiny..." He hesitated, then tenderly brushed his fingers against Dream Troy's cheek.

"Wait. I definitely don't think this happened in the episode," protested Troy, but Dream Troy leaned forward anyway, unable to see or hear him. The violin reached a crescendo in the background.

"It's why I'll always find you, again and again and again. No matter what place."

"Or time?"

Their lips met.

Dream Troy and Dream Abed spent a little too long in the kiss for it to be considered just a re-enactment. When they pulled back, Dream Abed's hand fell from Dream Troy's cheek, but he didn't step away.

"Awesome," Dream Troy whispered, and the two figures faded away, leaving only the desolate hill and the still-burning metropolis below.

Real Troy felt like he was losing his mind.

"What?"

"What was that?"

"Okay, yeah, maybe there was some unintentional homoeroticism in the show, but Constable Reggie wouldn't do _that_. It was so out-of-character."

"It's weird to kiss someone while a wide-scale disaster is happening! It's really weird! People- People are literally dying over there! It’s just- _weird!_ "

"I broke it. I broke the Dreamatorium." A nervous, high-pitched laugh. "I should have never _Inception'd_. I was dealing with things I didn’t understand! I knew something terrible would happen. I _knew_ and I did it anyway."

"Maybe that's not a memory at all. Maybe I'm just sitting in a closet hallucinating all by myself, and none of this ever happened at all."

"..maybe that's worse?"

"Hey Troy." Abed peeked into the room, the white fluorescents behind him making the entrance aptly look like a bright, flickering portal.

Troy screamed and fell backward.

"Uh. Sorry. I'm kind of on edge?"

"Understandable. Hey, you find anything else out about your kidnappers?"

"I- no." Troy pushed himself back to his feet, trying to gather himself. "Kinda- ahem- kinda working my way up to the scary ones."

"Cool cool cool. Hey, where is this?"

Troy quickly pushed reality back to the familiar orange grid.

"Nowhere," he squeaked. "Let's, uh, grab lunch."


	7. Flashback Episode

TEN MONTHS AGO

Jeff sauntered into the dean's office as though he hadn't woken up slightly hungover on his couch that morning.

"Dean. Do you know…" He trailed off. "Why are you smiling?"

"Oh, it's nothing. Just thinking about our conversation last night."

"Why? What did I say?" Oh, god. He hoped the dean's word was good, and nothing had actually happened.

"I just haven't had many opportunities to have deep conversation with you, Jeffrey."

"There's a reason for that." Jeff shook his head dismissively. "Anyway. I need to know if you know how to make a lesson plan, or a- a curriculum, or whatever."

"Oh, no idea."

"Weren't you a teacher of something at some point? How did you become a dean?"

"Sure, but I taught here, at Greendale. You of all people should know how loosely defined the term 'educator' is here."

"Great. Well, I can't ask Frankie. I think I'm on thin ice with her this week." He cringed. The performance review had not gone well, and he had gotten pretty defensive. He would have to see if there was some kind of _Teaching for Dummies_ book squirreled away in the library somewhere.

"Before you go…"

"Yeah?"

"Do you want to come over tonight?"

"No." Jeff hesitated. "Why? Why would I want to come over?"

"Well, I thought we were friends, for one." Dean Pelton looked at him with that guilt-trippy pout, a hand on his chest in a pantomime of disbelief. "Also, I have it on pretty good authority that Britta scheduled you an intervention tonight. See? Group calendar."

"What? Why am I not on this?"

The dean shrugged, and quickly put his phone back in his shirt pocket before Jeff could seize it.

"Oh, don't look so betrayed. It originally started as a birthday tracking thing, and now everyone's always blowing up my phone with grant deadlines and intervention plans and veterinarian appointments for cats I don't own."

"Okay, fair enough." Jeff put his hands up in defeat. "Yeah, okay. I'll get out of here a little early and head over there, and I guess we’ll… hang out. Just- can this not be a thing where you hit on me every five minutes? I'm way too tired to deal with that today."

"Well… I should probably be the one worried about that, if last night was anything to go by." The dean's tone was far more flirtatious than it needed to be. As per usual.

"Yep. Thin ice." Jeff lightly slapped the doorway as he exited.

"Noted."

But of course the dean watched Jeff leave with a wistful sigh, chin in his hands.

+++

Jeff showed up.

It was arguably an even worse decision today, sober, than the one he'd made yesterday, drunk, but he knocked anyway.

"Jeffrey."

"Hey." He looked around. Clearly an effort had been made to make the place more inviting. A candle sat on the coffee table, bathing the place in soft light and the smell of vanilla, and the pillows on the couch were arranged in an oddly pleasing order. "Just to be clear, this is not some kind of master plan to have another blackmail date?"

"Just an evening of friendship and pasta primavera," Craig promised.

"Great." Jeff took off his jacket and shoes and laid back on the couch. "Hey, uh, what say we crack open a bottle of something?"

"Oh, no, Jeffrey. I may be saving you from an uncomfortable evening of Britta-therapy, but I will _not_ be enabling your bad habit."

"Oh, come on, _Craig_ , one glass won't hurt anything. Besides, I'm not any fun sober." Jeff leaned up, tugging on the dean's tie and looking up at him pleadingly. He put on his most charming smile, leaned in a little. He could see Craig’s brain immediately freeze over, and it took a moment before he got any kind of reaction.

"Okay, you cannot-" The dean yanked his tie away, flustered. "You can _not_ seduce me in order to get drunk! And not because of any self-control on my part." THe waved his hands angrily as he spoke. "I made sure beforehand to get rid of alllll the alcohol in the house, because _you have a problem_ , Jeffrey."

"Oh, god. This is the intervention, isn't it?" Jeff reached for his coat.

"No, that's still going on next door." Jeff put his coat back. "In fact, that's where all my alcohol is now."

"They brought alcohol to an intervention?"

"Beats me."

"Fine. Whatever. We'll do this whole fun friendship pasta thing sober, because I don't feel like dealing with whatever's next door, and I don't want to pay for a hotel room. I just hope you're ready to handle me without anything in my system to take the edge off."

It was not the fun-filled night Dean Pelton hoped it would be. Jeff mostly sat and moped on the couch while the dean cooked. He ate his dinner, mopily, and was preparing to mope through _Strictly Ballroom_ , even though he admittedly didn't actually mind it, when he started to hear music through the wall adjacent to his condo.

"Jeez, are the walls actually this thin?"

"One of the perks."

"Great. Remind me to soundproof my entire everything." He stared over at the wall where Britta was no doubt throwing an impromptu rager with his confiscated alcohol. "I should be there."

"Now, if you had gone, I'm pretty sure it wouldn't be a party. They'd be sitting around reading off the A.A. website, all depressed."

"Yeah, that's pretty much the story of my life right now." Jeff put his head in his hands. "You're kind of the only person who can tolerate being around me anymore."

"Hey…" The dean rubbed his back comfortingly, and Jeff actually didn't bat him away. "I'm sure that's not true. Everyone likes you."

"It sure doesn't feel that way most of the time."

"Well, tell me more about why you feel that way. Actually, I think this is the perfect time for another little heart-to-heart."

"I mean, it was, until you pointed it out."

"You know what I think your problem is, Jeffrey?"

"Rampant alcoholism?"

"No." The dean paused. "Well, yes, but no. I think you feel like you're not in control of your life right now." He scooted closer and rubbed Jeff's shoulders. "Which, you know. You're a person who feels like he needs to be in control all the time. So you control your sobriety, because that's the only thing you feel you _can_ control."

"Wow. Which pamphlet lying around the teacher's lounge did you borrow that from?"

"Can you at least _try_ to open up a little? I'm doing my best here."

"Fine. You want me to open up?" He sat up, pushed the dean's hands away. "I haven't had sex in two months, which is a really long time for me. Most of my friends are off doing actual things with their lives, and the ones that stayed don't have time for me anymore. Every day, I have to fill the empty hours with _something_ , and I still don't know how the hell to do a lesson plan, so it's not like I can just throw myself into my work. I am alone, all the time, and I'm old, and I'm closer to death every miserable day, and when I finally die nobody will remember me."

"Wow."

"Chyeah. Wow is right."

There was a moment of silence, and Jeff started to wonder if it wouldn’t be better to have gotten a crappy motel room somewhere.

"Jeffrey," the dean said softly. "Can you trust me for a minute?"

"Oh, probably not, but you know what?" He settled back into the cushions, resigned. "I'm pretty much too sad and tired to care anymore." 

Dean Pelton put a throw pillow in his lap as a buffer, and, with surprisingly no resistance, eased Jeff down to rest his head on top of it. 

Jeff let himself relax while thin fingers slowly brushed through his hair. It felt nice, and he almost forgot where he was for a moment.

"Better?"

"Well- for now." Jeff looked up. "Just this, right?"

"Yep. Just this is plenty." The dean smiled. "You can trust me at least a little bit. And look, you let yourself lose control for a minute, you vented to me, and it wasn't the end of the world. Right?"

"Maybe you should be the unlicensed therapist." Jeff tilted his head slightly to watch the movie, and Craig continued brushing his hair and along his face in slow, soothing movements.

And really, this wasn't that bad. Yeah, in the beginning, he'd hated spending time with the dean, and sure, he didn't appreciate the open and constant flirtation. But somewhere along the line, they'd become friends. Over the past year or so he'd become a little less of a manipulator and a little more invested in Craig's feelings and whether or not they were hurt. And maybe right now he was kind of leading him on, but something about the attention and the care and the devotion made him feel… well, feel something that wasn't loneliness or bittersweet nostalgia or boredom, which was rare for him these days.

"So," said the dean as the credits rolled. "What should we watch next? You should have a turn to pick, it’s only fair.”

"I think we should go to bed," Jeff said without even really thinking it through.

"Aw, already? I guess it _has_ been a pretty long day. Well, let me get you a blanket, and I'll-"

Craig's mind stopped working as Jeff’s hand gently touched his cheek.

“That’s not what I meant,” he said quietly. “I want to be in your bed, with you.”

“I- oh.”

“I’m still fifty-fifty about sex being in the equation. To be clear.”

“Okay.” Craig took a deep breath. “Well, not going to lie, I like those odds.”

“Great.”

They moved to the bedroom, and lay down side-by-side, both still fully-clothed. Actually, Jeff felt strangely nervous. It felt different. Although he’d just acted on impulse, it didn’t feel as… well, it didn’t feel pointless being here. This wasn’t and couldn’t be just another fling. He was afraid, and apparently Craig noticed, because he reached for Jeff’s hand and held it.

“You don’t have to feel- I don’t want you to do anything uncomfortable. I mean-” Craig stammered. “This is already so much more than I ever thought-”

“I’m just…” Jeff searched for an excuse, but it was a little futile trying to lie at this point. “I’m kinda scared.”

“Oh, we don’t have to do anything _crazy_ -” Craig started.

“I was talking more about being emotionally intimate with another human being, but thanks for the reassurance.”

“Ah. Yep.”

“Why don’t you go ahead and kiss me before I change my mind?”

He nodded and scooted closer, stroking Jeff’s cheek. When their lips finally met, Jeff was surprised how strongly his body responded to it. He felt warmth immediately radiate up through his stomach. Like clockwork, of course, a hand slipped into its familiar spot there, but it quickly moved to his hip, turning Jeff onto his back. 

The kiss broke for a moment as Craig adjusted himself to more comfortably lie against Jeff’s chest, but not for very long. His lips were soft, and he kissed with a desperation without being sloppy about it. He kissed like Jeff was the last man on earth, or the most important man on earth, or the most loved man on earth. It was hard not to feel completely swept away.

“Craig,” Jeff breathed helplessly as they separated again. 

“Hm…?”

“Just- _Wow._ I think your odds just went to seventy-thirty.”

“Somehow, Jeffrey, that manages to make the list of the most romantic things anyone has ever said to me.”

“Really? I can do better than that,” Jeff said, but he didn’t manage to get another word out before Craig kissed him again.  
  


NINE MONTHS AND THREE WEEKS AGO

“Can I ask you a weird question? It’s for a friend. As a psych major, which I realize means almost nothing, you might have some kind of higher understanding.”

“The doctor is in,” Britta said, settling on the couch next to Jeff. It was Saturday night, which meant they had about twenty minutes before Britta had to leave for work and Jeff left for Craig’s.

“What’s the difference between actual attraction and just attention-seeking?”

“Does this have to do with your new friend you’re sneaking off to go see all the time?”

"No. And I’m not- okay. First of all, why do you suddenly care where I disappear to? Secondly, you're not entitled to every detail of my life just because we live together."

"So you _are_ dating again." Britta smirked. "Come on, spill, I'm not gonna judge you, or laugh at you, or- whatever it is you're so afraid will happen if I find out."

"Yeah, but _Pierce_ is gonna laugh at me." Jeff gestured at the lava lamp above the hearth. He couldn't actually remember how he'd gotten stuck with the ugly thing, but he also couldn't bear to throw it away.

"Wait, why will Pierce laugh?" Britta leaned forward. "Jeff, are you-"

"No. Nope, we are not having this conversation, actually. My private life doesn’t really have to be your business anymore if we’re not seeing each other." Jeff grabbed his coat and started tying his shoes.

"Fine, but you should know that I support you and your girlfriend…"

"Don't."

"...or boyfriend." Britta's tone was less supportive and more self-congratulatory.

"Well, technically I don't have either, so I guess your support means nothing to me." He opened the door, then paused. "I didn't mean that, I'm sober and I hate it, I'm sorry." The door slammed behind him.

"Huh..." Britta idly twirled a strand of her hair around her finger, her lips slowly spreading into an ear-to-ear grin. "You know, Pierce, I have no idea why, but the intervention party somehow worked. Britta Perry, you are a therapeutic genius."


	8. Inheritance Law

"Okay!" Annie's voice blared through the tinny speakers of the iPad. "I hereby call to order the very first meeting of the Committee to Restore Troy's Memories."

"A little wordy," Abed started, but Annie looked in his general direction with disdain.

"We are _not_ calling ourselves anything related to the movie Memento."

"Ah, that explains the note taped to your back." Jeff gestured to the back of the broom with his pen.

" _Don't believe her lies,_ " Abed hissed.

"Guys!" Annie whined. "I only have the next half hour before I have to go back to class. Can we please keep the messing around to a minimum?"

"I agree. The first order of business is to go over the facts we do have." Frankie stood and walked over to the corkboard that she'd filled with color-coded sticky notes and various strings of yarn connecting them. She took a pointer stick from her pocket and extended it.

"Hot," Chang half-joked.

"We don't know what happened to the Childish Tycoon at sea, but I was able to gather some intel on the actual wreck." Frankie tilted her head. "Annie?"

"On it." The feed switched from Annie's webcam to a news report detailing the accident.

"...we are receiving reports that a stolen supermarket supply truck containing a shipment of dairy products crashed into a yacht on Route 70 early this morning. Dan?"

"Well, they say there's no crying over spilt milk, Arlene, but the highway patrol might argue otherwise."

"The cleanup took several hours, causing a massive roadblock on the way into the city-"

"Just like my lactose intolerance, eh, Arlene?"

"Next up, how this affects _your_ commute-"

"Did you have to make us sit through the banter?" Jeff complained.

"I was coming back?" Troy put his hands on his head, agitated. "I was on my way home. I was so close. What the hell happened?"

"Someone crashed a dairy truck into you," Chang shrugged, his hook clanging against Frankie's vacant chair.

"O-oh my god!" Troy leapt out of his seat. "What _is_ that?"

"That's Chang. Don't be rude," Annie lectured.

"Y'know, Chang, given that Troy just came back from being kidnapped by _pirates_ , you could have left the hook at home."

"Okay, Jeff, that's homophobic. Not all pirates- in fact, most pirates don't have hooks, or eyepatches, or parrots."

"Why would that be homophobic?" Abed asked, confused.

"You know what? Asking me that question is homophobic, Abed. I hope you're proud of yourself."

"Chang has this thing now where when someone does something he doesn't like, it's homophobic," Britta sighed, looking more tired than usual.

"Says the only hetero at this table," Chang retorted, and Britta sat up suddenly, looking around at everyone frantically and then down at herself.

"Wait a minute-"

"Hold it, Britta." Abed held out his hands. "I'm not sure this narrative has room for a C story about you trying to get a girlfriend in the name of being progressive."

"Well, that's too bad! I'm going to go find a girlfriend right now, because I-" Britta held her head up high. "-was bisexual this entire time, and I am _proud of it!"_

"You're not s- okay, and she's gone." Jeff leaned forward. "Can we try not to waste any more of Annie's time, people?"

"Wait- am I for real gay, or was that a joke?" asked Troy.

"In the week that followed," Frankie continued, pointing to a different sticky note, "no further information of the crash was revealed. However, we do have an eyewitness from the gas station on Pine that saw Troy walking to Greendale from the opposite direction."

"So he didn't come from the highway? How was he moved from the crash to… wherever he was for a week?" Annie frowned, scribbling on something off camera.

"I think the more important question is, who stole the dairy truck?" Jeff folded his arms. "And why did they do it?"

"Well, money, obviously."

"I think you're forgetting one thing, Annie." Frankie tapped a copy of Pierce's will. It was too thick to put a push pin into, so she'd duct taped it to the wall. "Nobody else was set to inherit Pierce's wealth. Upon Troy's death, or upon failure to complete his task, the inheritance would have gone to Pierce's next of kin, in this case, one _Gilbert Lawson_." She pointed to a strangely-sultry headshot of the man in question.

"No. Gilbert wouldn't do that." Jeff objected.

"What about his ex-wives?" Chang asked. "Say what you want about the guy, he really got around." He turned to offer Abed a high-five, forgetting his hook hand, and ended up ripping the back of Frankie's chair in the process.

Troy quickly scooted Abed to the other side of the table and leaned over him protectively.

"Actually, there is a specific clause in the will specifying that none of Pierce's ex-wives, or their families, are eligible to receive anything. I’ll do us all a favor and refrain from, uh, directly quoting his reasons, but suffice it to say he didn’t want any of them touching a penny of the fund."

"Well… what if something also happened to Gilbert before he was able to collect? Wouldn't the funds just go to the state, or something? Maybe City College-"

"You mean escheat?" Jeff cut Annie off, twisting his ring around his finger guiltily. "Usually large estates like Pierce's don't just go unclaimed. There are entire firms dedicated to finding heirs in exchange for a slice of the pie. If Troy was targeted, and you think Gilbert is in danger, there's got to be someone with a strong relation to him, outside of his ex-family, who stands to benefit."

The room went quiet. Everyone looked around at each other.

"Annie?"

"What?!" She gasped in horror. "Abed, I did not steal a dairy truck! I am all the way across the country!"

"You were Pierce's favorite. I can see him putting you next in line to inherit his money. And you could use your FBI resources to hack into the truck's mainframe remotely."

"That is _so_ not how any of that works outside of movies. Plus, Frankie went over every inch of the will. There's nothing there that says his estate could revert to me."

"I know." Abed sighed, dejected. "I just thought if I stirred up some drama we'd find more leads."

"Well, I'm not doing another 'bottle episode.'" Jeff stood, and immediately Abed pointed at him accusingly.

"First to leave the table. You're looking awfully suspicious, Jeff."

"I have a very important lunch date, for your information, and I'm leaving. If that makes me Troy's kidnapper, then I guess you can put me in handcuffs." He thrust his wrists out exaggeratedly before spinning around and leaving the room.

"Did you hear that? He confessed!" Chang jumped up from his seat, and Troy involuntarily ducked behind Abed's chair. "He's getting away, we have to go after him!"

"Hey, who's your date?" Annie called out in a faux-scandalous tone.

"Oh. Jeff actually left just now. But he's married."

"What?"

"I didn't know either."

"Is that why he stopped coming to the calls?" Annie widened her eyes. "I hope he doesn't think- I mean, it wouldn't have been awkward for me to know that."

"Yeah, but you know him. It would have been awkward for him to tell you." Abed leaned back in his chair. "Plus, getting anything out of him about it is like pulling teeth. I think he's ashamed."

"He's not ashamed," Frankie objected. "Some of us just like to keep our private lives private. There's nothing wrong with that. I think you would get a lot farther with him if you toned it down and let him come to you."

"Yeah, okay. Maybe you're right."

"Hey, guys? I have class in ten, so I think I'm gonna have to go. You'll call me if you find anything else out, right?"

"Yep. Bye, Annie."

"Bye, Annie," Troy waved.

"Bye Troy! I promise I'll come visit after finals!" Annie smiled and waved back, and then the feed cut out.

"So we made _ze-ro_ progress today," Chang grumbled, putting his feet up on the table. He went to put his hands behind his head, but managed to lodge his hook in the fabric of his chair. "Oop- ow- hey, a little help here? Guys?"

+++

"Jeff? I think I need to talk to you."

"Can it wait, Abed? I'm kind of busy with my lesson plan."

Abed peered over Jeff's shoulder at something that looked like a swarm of highlighters had vomited all over it.

"I'm still not fully convinced you know what you're doing on that front."

"Fine. We can talk for a little bit. Go get Hickey's chair."

"They haven't moved anyone else into this office?" The chair scraped across the floor as he pushed it next to Jeff's desk.

"Eh, I'll always think of it as his chair. He was the one who showed me the ropes when I started." Plus, Jeff didn't care for any of the other office mates Frankie had tried to saddle him with. The other side of the room was still scarred and torn up from when Chang had been given the desk.

"He was kind of an a-hole, huh?"

"Yeah. Yeah, he was. But at least he left me alone for the most part." Jeff looked back at Hickey's desk, oddly moved. God, what he wouldn't give for a quiet office. "So. What's up?"

“What’s it like having a husband?”

“A, not _technically_ my husband in the actual dictionary definition sense of the word. B, why are you so interested, Abed? You weren’t asking me invasive questions when you thought Britta was my wife.”

“That’s my bad. Sorry.” Abed looked down at his hands, then back up at Jeff. “I didn’t mean to violate your privacy or make you feel cornered. I just wanted to know more about how you were doing, and you’ve kinda been avoiding everyone lately. I mean, we’re still friends.” The last part sounded slightly more like a question than a statement, and it hung uncomfortably in the air.

“Yeah, of course we’re still friends.” Jeff sighed. ”Okay, tell you what. You can ask me a few questions, as long as you’re not making me recount every little detail about our ‘meet cute’ or whatever. And- keep it PG-13, or I might not be able to look you in the eye ever again.”

“Cool cool.” Abed, relieved, stopped for a moment to think. “How did you end up falling for the dean in the first place? You never seemed that interested to me.”

"It's complicated." He raised his eyebrows and exhaled dramatically. "I don't really know if I understand it myself. _Definitely_ not well enough to give you a concise, straightforward answer."

"Well… I guess what I'm actually asking is how you figured out you were bi."

"Oh. Why? Are you…"

"There are a lot of things I discovered about myself when I moved to L.A." Abed tilted his head to the side. "I still don't get fusion cuisine. Or why the conveyor-belt pizza place is still in business. But I do get how it feels to be afraid of part of yourself. Afraid of how other people will react."

"I'm not afraid," Jeff laughed. Abed stayed expressionless, so he stopped laughing and pressed his fingers together. "Okay, fine. I'm still a little afraid. I guess- the thing is, it really doesn't matter if I'm gay or straight or bisexual. Especially when you're forty-two, and nobody gives a crap about labels, because life isn’t a pissing contest anymore. You just… are, and you hope you can find someone who accepts you for that. I mean, Craig isn't perfect, and sometimes I feel like admittedly part of it is that he just wore me down over time, or that it maybe, a little bit, started out as me just wanting the attention, but he honestly genuinely understands me and my needs and tries his best."

"And you do the same for him?"

"Well… most of his needs. Sure." Jeff flattened his lips, embarrassed. "The point is, Abed, find someone you enjoy your time on earth with. Someone who makes a good companion, and can be a good friend. Everything else is just icing on the cake."

"Huh." Abed made an expression close enough to a smile. "Thanks, Jeff. That was actually really helpful."

"So… no more poking around into my sexual history? No more flashbacks?"

"No more flashbacks." Abed nodded. "How do you get less afraid?"

"Call me if you figure that one out." Jeff smiled. "But you learn to deal with the fear. Talking helps."


	9. The Art of Assassination

11:42:57

11:42:56

11:42:55

"I have some exciting news about our Halloween plans," Frankie said, holding a garishly-colored Nerf gun.

Jeff raised his hand. "Does it have anything to do with the gigantic gun you're holding?"

"I'm glad you asked, hon," Dean Pelton said, slinking into the study room in an uncomfortably sexy black bodysuit, a red wig, and two or three ammo belts slung around his shoulders.

"Black Widow," Abed blurted.

"Very good!" The dean clapped and threw him a neon green pistol. "And the reason I am dressed that way is becaaaause…"

"You know Scarlett Johansson is the only reason I'll sit through a Marvel movie?" Jeff quipped. The dean winked and unzipped the top of the suit a little more.

"Okay!" Frankie stepped in. "We are going to play a fun game of Halloween assassin. All of the chaos and drama of paintball, none of the mess. Students will be required to buy their own supplies, but given the robust paintball black market that cropped up last year, I don't anticipate that being a problem. I have a list of everyone's targets-" Everyone's phone dinged as she pushed send on a mass email. "-and Troy, if you don't remember your target, I can give you some basic information on them to get started."

"Cheating," Chang muttered.

"I… don't think that will be necessary," Troy mumbled, staring at his phone in horror.

"The games will begin at six at the school costume party tonight, and end at midnight, when the last person is eliminated, or until it becomes a liability and I end up having to call the whole thing off. All the information is in the email, so make sure to read it all the way through and sign the attached waiver, or you'll be disqualified. Abed?"

“Isn’t assassin usually played over a longer time period?”

“Do you trust the Greendale student body not to waste months playing?”

"Fair point. What's the prize?"

"We've learned from the mistakes of previous years and the stakes are relatively low this time," the dean answered. "We settled on a fifty-dollar gift certificate to Outback Steakhouse."

"What? You realize people are going to _actually_ destroy each other," Jeff said.

"Frankie, you said that was the safe bet!"

"Oh, come on. It's a gift card. How crazy could things get over fifty dollars?"

08:15:26

08:15:25

08:15:24

"Abed! Troy! Jeff!" Britta stepped into the study room, wearing a red checked flannel tucked into a pair of oversized overalls and a black beanie. She paused and looked Chang in the eye. " _Chang_."

"Okay, I call homophobia for real this time. Being a lesbian is not a costume!"

"I'm a lumberjack!" Britta growled, producing a large foam axe from behind her back. "And for your information, I came here to introduce you guys to my new girlfriend."

"So?" Jeff gestured around the room. "Where is she?"

"Wh-" Britta panicked. "Oh, shit, I lost her. Beverly? Sweetie?" She bolted from the room.

"What are you supposed to be, anyway?" Chang squinted at Jeff's lazy costume from under his eyepatch.

“This is my couples’ costume. Gomez Addams?” He motioned at his slicked-back hair and pinstriped suit.

“Oh, big deal. You literally just wore a fancy suit and sharpie’d a mustache on.”

“Really? I’m the lazy one? You literally decided to go as a pirate. Plus, you don’t even have, like, a beard or anything.”

“It’s my first Halloween with one hand! I get a pass. Also, Vicki was unavailable tonight.”

"Okay, can we get back to the topic at hand? I think we should team up and take over the old sandwich shop. Safety in numbers, plus we get the added nostalgia benefit and the counter provides plenty of cover."

"I think you're forgetting this isn't paintball, Abed." Jeff crossed his arms. "It's every man for himself, there are no teams."

"Troy. I'm Troy, he's Abed."

"Didn't you two do this whole swapping thing already?"

"Yes, but on Freaky Friday. Not as a Halloween gag." Abed looked over at Troy, who was dressed as Abed.

"Sorry, I wasn't paying attention. What's the plan?"

"Troy, you can sit this one out if you want to. Seriously, nobody- okay, nobody but Chang is going to make fun of you if you need some alone time to process things."

"No, I wanna have fun with you guys. I feel like I'm bringing the whole group down with this stupid Changnesia thing." Troy sighed, sinking into Abed's cardigan.

"Oh! Guys, I found my girlfriend!" Britta pulled a disoriented-looking octogenarian into the room. "This is Beverly."

"Where am I? Who are these people?" The old lady squinted. "Why is Clark Gable here?"

"Should I be flattered or offended?" asked Jeff.

"Ha! Seriously?" Chang doubled over with laughter. " _That's_ your girlfriend? Nobody else was willing to go to the dance with you?"

"I don't see a date on your arm," Britta countered, patting Beverly's head consolingly.

"Yeah, because it's significantly harder to find a date with a hook for a hand!" Chang slammed the hook into the table, where it reliably stuck in the wood. Troy bolted. Abed cringed. He’d have to figure out how to fix that later.

"Well, how do you think I feel? I asked every-"

"Hey. I'm tapping out." Abed touched Jeff's shoulder. "Gotta go check on Troy. I mean, Abed."

“Yeah, fine.” Jeff turned to the war zone that was forming on the other side of the table. “Alright, break it up. Britta, your date is wandering away again. Chang, sidebar.”

“Ha! I get a sidebar.”

“Not a good thing.” Jeff switched chairs and sat next to him, taking advantage of the fact his hook was still lodged safely in the table. “Okay, what is your deal? You were doing great up until a few weeks ago, and now you’re acting up again.”

“My mother died,” Chang said flatly, and then, after a moment, his face scrunched together and he began to emit a high-pitched whimper. Jeff rubbed Chang’s shoulder awkwardly. It really wasn’t fair how he was always the one put in these situations.

+++

"Hey, Abed."

"Hey, Troy." Troy squeezed out from in between the bookshelves. "Sorry. I kinda started wigging out in there."

"It's cool. Gave me an excuse to come find you." Abed looked down at Troy’s shaking hands. “Are you okay?”

“Not really. Something about that guy’s hook makes me feel really…” He tried to pantomime how he felt, but it wasn’t working. “I just- how come he doesn’t get like, a plastic hand or something? It’s like if I replaced all my fingers with knives and expected people to just shake my hand.”

“Do you think Freddy Kruger does well at job interviews?”

“What, like, the whole ‘strong handshake’ thing? I mean, probably n- ugh. C’mon, man, focus.” Troy grabbed Abed by the shoulders, except then he realized how much physical contact that was. He let go instantly and took a small step back. “I- Okay, listen. I feel like there’s some kind of _thing_ happening.”

“A thing?”

“Yeah. Like a memory thing. If that Chang guy freaks me out so bad, there’s gotta be a reason.”

“I mean, he freaks everyone out. But I don’t disagree.” Abed nodded. “We could shake him down for information, if he has any. Generally separating him from the group leaves him vulnerable and anxious, and he responds well to threats of violence, so tonight’s probably the perfect time to strike.”

“Okay. Cool. Just gonna somewhat violently interrogate the weird guy in the friend group. No biggie.”

“Don’t be nervous. We’ve done way worse stuff before.”

“Yeah, but if I can’t remember it, did it really happen?” Troy sighed. “Actually, on that note… There’s something else I have to ask you. It’s about the Dreamatorium.”

“Sure.”

“Does it only pick up memories…? Like, real things that happened?”

“Oh, of course not. The power of imagination knows-”

“No bounds. Yeah. But like, if I asked it to show me my memories, and then something totally wild showed up, there’s no way to know that’s real, right?”

“I mean, yes. It depends. Obviously when you had the flashback, that was a memory that was visceral and had a lot of meaning to you. You were literally reliving that. But if you were trying to remember a movie or something, your brain could obviously omit or rewrite certain parts without it being obvious to you. Memory is funny like that.” Abed gave Troy a grim smile. “Also, if it was acting up, it might be because Britta almost definitely used it as a hook-up room while we were gone.”

“Oh, thank god. That explains everything.” Troy laughed, relieved. “The Dreamatorium was just busted! I am such an idiot.”

“Wait, what makes you say that? What did you see in there?”

“It’s kinda embarrassing.” Troy felt his skin prickle, and he hesitated. “Uh, I saw us, like… re-enacting Inspector Spacetime, or making an episode, or something. We were in a future version of Rome. And we, uh…”

“We what?” Abed looked confused as Troy tried to gesture at him. “No, I’m not getting it.”

“We kissed, okay? But clearly the memory was broken, so nobody has to worry about it. It’s all good.”

Abed hesitated.

“I mean, we did do that sometimes.”

“What? Why?”

“I’m not really sure.” He scratched his neck anxiously. “One time you said ‘what if’ and I thought it would be a good character study so I agreed.”

“So… it was just acting then.” Troy strained to find some excuse not to call it what it was. “Like, you would be Han and I would be Leia. We didn’t kiss each other, like, directly.”

“Not technically speaking, no,” Abed agreed, but he felt something sink in his stomach.

“Cool.”

“Cool cool cool.”

They both felt relieved when the dean announced the dance was beginning over the loudspeaker.


	10. Sociology of Small Talk

06:37:56

06:37:55

06:37:54

It sucked attending a costume party remotely, but it was the probably the only time Annie would have a shot to talk to Jeff until Christmas.

She'd hung up a cheap Halloween tablecloth behind her to make the webcam feed more festive, at least. She didn't have the heart to dress up all the way, so she threw on an black sweater, put on a dollar-store cat ears headband, and called it a night. Truthfully, it was kind of nice wearing pajama bottoms to a party.

"Jeff?" She rolled up to where he was sitting.

"Hey. I didn't think you'd be here. I mean, you're not physically here, but… on the phone. Here."

"I just wanted to catch up with everyone. It's been a while since I heard from… some of us."

"Okay, don't Shirley me. I know I haven't been doing the group calls, and I apologize for that."

"I'm not mad. Seriously." Annie frowned. "What I am mad about is that you didn't tell us you were married! Or invite us to the wedding! It's kind of a big deal."

"That's the thing, though. It kind of wasn't a big deal. Or, at least, we didn't need it to be." Jeff sighed. "Craig and I agreed that it was more for convenience than anything. I mean, the whole politics of being th-"

"Craig? As in, the dean?" Annie blinked.

"Please, do _not_ make this a punchline. I've been dealing with the whole 'odd couple' schtick all week from Troy and Abed. Ironically enough."

"No, I was going to say it actually makes total sense. You guys always had this weird obsession with each other."

"I don't know if I would call it that," Jeff said. "But I'm glad at least one person isn't reacting with shock and horror."

"Oh, I'm sure they're just being dramatic. I mean, they have a whole two years of goofing off to catch up on."

"Yeah, or they're projecting." Jeff twisted his ring around his finger. "I mean, they have their own little thing going on lately."

"Psh. Lately?"

"Fair. I guess you did live with them. God, Abed had this whole conversation with me about sexuality, which was... jarring and surreal, but oddly endearing."

"And?"

"Okay, rumormonger. You might actually be _worse_ than Shirley at this point."

"Oh, come on. The best roommate drama I get around here is dealing with stupid fights over our clashing sleep schedule."

"Well, I basically told him to go for it with Troy. I think he's really serious."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. It's hard not to be proud of him. Just a little bit."

"Well, you always were kind of the group dad."

"Oh, don't say that. I feel old." Jeff smiled wearily. "I mean. I guess I am old."

"That doesn't have to be a bad thing," Annie reassured him. "You have a semi-decent job, you found someone who cares about you, settled down..."

She trailed off, and there was a long moment of relative silence.

"It's really hard for me still. Letting go of you," he admitted.

"It just wasn't meant to be." Annie paused. "I'm sorry if I made you feel…"

"No, don't. Seriously, Annie, my feelings aren't something you have to apologize for. I- I shouldn’t have brought it up. You're still one of my best friends, and you're doing great, and you're on the best path for you, and that's all that matters."

"Yeah. I know." Annie bit her lip, unsure of what else to say. "Hey, will you do me a favor?"

"Sure. Anything."

"Tell Pierce I said hi?"

"I'll put a flower near his lava lamp or something for you."

"Great." Annie smiled. "Oh, and show up to the next call. I think Abed wants to try long-distance Dungeons & Dragons."

"Ugh," Jeff complained, but he chuckled. "God help us if Craig decides to dress for the occasion."

"You should see Abed's green-screens," Annie countered, and they both laughed.

+++

“Hey, uh. It’s Frankie, right?” Troy asked, feeling small. Most of the students were already talking and dancing, but Frankie hovered next to her laptop, overly concerned with making the dance go smoothly.

“Oh, hi, Troy. Adjusting alright?”

“Kind of. I guess- I guess I’ve been kind of weirded out by everything. I mean, it’s all familiar, but I don’t really get the relationships I have to these people yet.” Troy’s shoulders slumped in defeat. “Anyway, I thought I’d hang out with you for a sec, since you’re pretty much the only one who doesn’t see me as some kind of hero.”

“I’m flattered. Do you want a turn being the DJ?” She smiled at him, adjusting her pearls.

“Nah, that’s okay. Hey, what’s your costume?”

"Holly Golightly." Frankie beamed and adjusted her left opera glove. She looked stunning with her hair up and her tall frame accentuated by the iconic black dress, and she clearly felt it.

“Oh. Haha. I thought you were Audrey Hepburn.” Troy shrunk into his sweater, embarrassed. “I’m Abed. Kind of a dumb costume, but he’s my best friend and I had like, no time to get a costume, so I figured I’d go with it.”

“That’s sweet. I remember he used to talk about you all the time.”

“Yeah. I feel like they all saw me as larger-than-life while I was gone. It kinda gives me… Britta said it was called imposter syndrome. Like I’m not really supposed to be here.”

“They just missed you. It’s pretty normal to romanticize the people in your life that leave it.” Frankie adjusted her opera glove again. “And you are pretty great, Troy. Working off of the stories I’ve heard, admittedly, but I can honestly say they seem to be more or less accurate. You were a good friend. Empathetic, kind, funny- and, for some reason everyone always makes a point to remind me of your skill with the steel drums?”

“My skill with _what?_ Oh, god, I don’t remember that. Nobody told me! I'm gonna have to re-learn an entire instrument?”

“Well-” Frankie tried to defuse Troy’s panic. “Listen, I’m no master, but I could give you some lessons to jog your memory.” She leaned down and patted his shoulder. “Hey. Troy. It’s going to be okay.”

“Thanks. Overreacting. I’m just stressed out.”

“You’re allowed to be. It’s been a hard week.”

“Thanks." Troy closed his eyes, got himself back under control. "You know what, Frankie? I wasn't sure about you at first, but you're kind of awesome. I mean, you’re basically like the group mom now, right? Keeping everyone on task, calming me down, eating that pro-biotic Jamie Lee Curtis type yogurt all the time…”

“Okay, why are people saying that? Does- is this Craig spreading passive-aggressive rumors again? I told him the faculty fridge is there for everyone and he has to share.” Frankie stopped, sensing Troy’s confusion. “No, sorry. It’s fine. In any case, I'm not sure I'd call myself the group mom. I'm more of the estranged, cool but slightly emotionally-distant au-” She froze.

“What? You okay?”

“Oh, crap. Troy! Did you call your mom?”

“No…?”

“Okay, mister. First thing tomorrow, we’re paying a visit to the records room. You can’t forget to let your mom know you’re alive. God- it’s not your fault. I just can’t believe we forgot.” She put her hand to her forehead, fretting over the mistake.

06:14:31

06:14:30

06:14:29

"Hey!" Britta bounded up to the little improvised DJ booth. “You taking requests?”

“Let me switch over to the _The Craft_ soundtrack,” Frankie replied fondly. The sounds of whiny 90s vocals and the theremin washed over the crowd.

“You know me too well.”

“It seemed like your kind of movie. God knows it’s a rite of passage for Gen-X lesbians and weird alternative girls.”

“Actually, on that subject…” Britta put on what she hoped was an alluring smile. "I have a favor to ask you. Can you come dance with me for a few minutes? I lost my date again, and-" She looked back over where Chang and Starburns were discussing something fervently.

"What? No. I have an event to run, Britta, and I honestly don't see why I should let you keep treating sexual orientation as some kind of competition." Frankie pinched the bridge of her nose, resting her other hand on her hip. "You have got to stop this silly behavior. I mean, my own feelings aside, you should be embarrassed. I mean, aren't you of all people concerned that you are _literally_ performing homoeroticism for the male gaze, even if that male happens to be- well- Chang?"

"Hey! You can't tell me not to explore my own sexuality! It's not a competiton, it isn't a joke, and you _aren’t my mom_ , and even if you were, I definitely wouldn’t listen to you. And- and don't make this about Chang, because it totally isn't about him." Britta glared at her, defiant and bubbling with rage. "You are such a coward, you know that? You're so scared of everyone's opinion that you won't even tell us your _favorite flavor of ice cream_."

"Oh, so I'm a coward now? You know what-" Frankie raised her hands. "I don't know what to say to you. You are so insecure about where you stand in the suffering game you've created that you've stopped caring about the people you were trying to support!"

"You- you're-" Britta puffed out her face like a stubborn child. "Ugh! I'm going to go find my _real_ girlfriend. This was a stupid idea, and you're stupid. Bye." She accentuated the last syllable with an exaggerated "talk to the hand" gesture.

Frankie huffed, changed the music to the "Monster Mash" and crossed her arms.

+++

"Get out." Abed chased two students out of the Dreamatorium-slash-supply closet. He needed a minute away from the noise and the packed cafeteria, and this was as good a place as any. He sat cross-legged in the middle of the floor.

He felt oddly focused on what Troy had said earlier. To the point that he didn't even want to play assassin, which was almost unthinkable. He would have a moment here, and then redirect all his energy into solving their mystery.

"Dream Troy?"

"Yeah, Troy?" Dream Troy materialized beside him.

"No, you can drop the bit. I'm just Abed in here." His clothes rearranged themselves back into Abed clothes.

"You're stressed. Because of what I said."

"Yes." Abed fiddled with the button of his dream-cardigan. "I knew you wouldn't remember everything, but parts of our relationship were really special. I didn't think you could forget me that easily."

"Don't feel bad. It's possible I chose to forget those memories, given I'm not as comfortable with that part of myself as you are."

"I wish Real Troy was this straightforward and clear." Abed put a hand on Dream Troy's shoulder, and Dream Troy leaned in for a kiss. "Wait. Don’t do that. What are you doing?"

"I dunno. What are _you_ doing?" Dream Troy grinned. "I'm part of _your_ brain, dude." He slapped Abed on the back and stood to leave. "You should just tell him how you feel. He's probably freaking out trying to understand his feelings."

"I don't know if a huge confession is the way to go here." Abed got to his feet, brushing off his Abed clothes and getting back into his Troy outfit. "But you're right. He probably needs to have all the information before he can make a real decision about what the future looks like."

"Cool. Hey, handshake?"

"Nah. Don't want our first handshake in two years to be with a hologram. Maybe next time."

"Gotcha," Dream Troy said, and he walked through the wall, fading out as he did so.

Abed took a deep breath and opened the door.

+++

"You look stunning." Jeff took Craig's hand and kissed the fingers. He was tempted to go all the way and kiss up his arm a lá the real Gomez Addams, but he already felt silly doing couples' costumes.

"Aww, thanks. I worked hard on this one." Craig, as Morticia, had on a long black dress and cat-eye makeup. He was still wearing his glasses, having 911 texted Jeff earlier about his contact falling into the toilet, and he was a bit too smiley and enthusiastic to pull it off, but still Jeff couldn't deny there was something special about the way he looked tonight.

"Should we dance?" Jeff looked over his shoulder at Frankie, who was busy talking to Britta. They probably still had time.

"Oh, like you even have to ask." 

It wasn’t a great song for dancing, so they didn't do much but sway together. Jeff was involuntarily reminded of the first time they'd danced together, years ago at class registration, and winced.

"What's wrong?"

"Just… I don't know. Thinking about the past." Jeff looked away. “Sometimes I think it was more of a tense rivalry than a friendship. I mean, you remember the whole history class fiasco.”

“Maybe I owe you an apology for that one.” Craig stroked Jeff’s cheek. “I mean, as much fun as it was, I guess I did play a lot of mind games with you.”

"Well, if you’re going to apologize for that, I owe you an apology for all the times I used your attraction to me to get something.”

“No, I owe _you_ an apology for the blackmail."

"I guess we deserve each other." Jeff smiled.

Craig's face fell.

"Listen, Jeffrey…" He met Jeff's eyes, obviously concerned. "I get scared when you say things like that. I don't want you to settle for me just because you're just afraid of dying alone, or because you think you owe me something."

"Oh, don't worry. This is a gold-digging operation, I clearly married you for your vast riches." Jeff quipped. "Seriously, Craig. If I didn't want to be here, I wouldn't be. You know that about me. I don't do anything I don't want to do."

"And you're still going to love me after the newlywed period ends?"

"Come on. How many years have we known each other? If I haven't gotten tired of you by now, I probably never will. _I like you._ I like the person I am when we're together. I like the fun outfits and the way you make me breakfast and, even though I would never admit it to another human being besides you, I like being the little spoon." Jeff tilted Craig's chin up to meet his gaze. "Am I lying to you?"

"Jeffrey, I am a level seven susceptible. Or so I've been told."

"Am I lying?"

"No," the dean sighed. "You're not lying. I just… I get scared."

"I get scared too," Jeff admitted. "Sometimes it feels like things are going too well, and I'm going to wake up any second now."

The music abruptly changed, and the "Monster Mash" blared over the dance floor, drowning out the conversation. It was hard not to laugh.

Jeff looked at Craig, who looked back at him with a grin. Jeff shrugged and goofily started mouthing the words, exaggerating his expressions and swinging his arms like one of Abed’s black-and-white movie monsters. Craig, giggling, joined in with his own silly fifties-style dance moves.

It was the best three minutes of the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, sorry for posting all of this at once. I actually feel a little afraid? to post it because I really want to do the show and characters justice, and it's been a really long time since I wrote anything (you can probs tell). Writing an ensemble cast is bananas! I'm not super sure what the overall chapter count is going to be yet, but I figured 15-ish is a safe estimate. If you guys have any requests or ideas for scenes you want me to write that tie into this story's "canon," I'm sure I can add a few of those in as extra chapters once I've finished the main plot. If you got this far, thanks so so so much for reading and letting me work through my sitcom withdrawals.


	11. Methods of Interrogation: How Far is Too Far?

06:03:17

06:03:16

06:03:15

"Students of Greendale," Frankie started. "As you know, I have authorized a game of school-wide assassin to be played here on campus tonight. I'd like to go over some of the rules together before we start, so that we are all on the same page.

"To participate, each player will check their student email for their randomly-selected target. You will use- and I cannot stress this enough- a _harmless_ foam bullet gun to take out your target. Once a target has been eliminated, the assassin must take a picture and send it from their student email to 2k16assgame@greenda… Is that really the email address?"

The dean nodded.

"Okay, I see there are… already some emails in here. Fantastic. Those of you who have already sent inappropriate pictures, consider yourselves disqualified."

About a dozen people grumbled and left the cafeteria.

"To the remaining players, a few additional rules and clarifications. Faculty members will be around to help referee the game, however, they are not included in the list of assassins. Please obey their judgements in case of a dispute. The cafeteria is off-limits for the game and considered a safe zone, for those who wish to take a break or simply enjoy the dance. The game is limited to the campus, which means no following your target home or to their place of work. _Please_." Frankie clapped her hands together. "Alright. Let the game begin!"

There was a moment of pure chaos and panic as those who were eager to hide ran out of the cafeteria. About half stayed in the safe area, but an air of suspicion and tension quickly took over the dance floor. People who had been previously partying and laughing were suddenly quiet, looking at each other through different eyes.

"Jeez. Glad we're on the same team," Abed said, shuffling to Troy's side.

"Huh? Uh, yeah," Troy responded, rubbing his neck. "Hey, let's go look around for Chang, okay?"

“Cool. We probably want to start in the library, since he lives in the vents. Just watch out for Annie’s Boobs.”

“Annie’s _what_?” Troy sputtered.

“Annie’s Boobs, the monkey. Never mind. You’ll figure it out.” Abed started out of the cafeteria.

“You have an extra gun? I didn’t really have time to prepare. The AC guys wanted to talk to me before the party started.”

Abed nodded and tossed him a pistol.

“Troy, are you sure you want to deal with those guys? One time, they kidnapped you, and another time, you had to trade them your freedom for help dismantling Chang’s coup-”

“Yeah, Abed, I have it under control. I know you're worried, but the new vice-dean they got seems really nice, and apparently I used to be insanely popular over there, because everyone kept trying to give me stuff.”

“Yeah, about that… you may or may not be their air-conditioning messiah.”

“I mean, even more reason to do it, right? Damn, I must be good.” Troy wiggled his fingers.

“Okay, but you don’t technically have to work anymore. Millions of dollars. You could do nothing for the next 40 years and still never worry about money.”

“What, and end up like Pierce?” Troy snapped. “I’m not going to sit around and watch my life slip away like that."

"You remember him now?"

"Me and Gilbert had a long talk yesterday." Troy rolled his shoulders, uncomfortable. "I just… I can't be putting off real life forever just because I have memory loss and a bajillion dollars. Otherwise, what was this all for? I have to start being an adult sometime."

“Okay.” Abed sniffed, pressed his lips together, and glanced at his feet. “I didn’t realize that being adults meant we had to start settling for less.”

“Abed…”

“No, it’s fine. We’re here. Let’s get our guy.” Fine with an “I,” but Troy didn’t remember to ask. 

Abed felt completely distraught as he pushed open the library doors, but he shoved those feelings away and got into character. It was easier to be an action hero for now. At least that archetype usually didn't have to worry about deep emotional dilemmas, as long as they saved the day and got the bad guy.

The building was completely silent.

They made their way along the edges of the main room, ducking behind the shelves. Any wrong move could be their last. 

"Hey, man," Troy whispered. "Do you think-"

"Shhh," Abed hissed, holding out his hand to stop him. "Do you hear that?"

"N… no?"

"Exactly! Something's wrong."

The study room was mere yards away. Abed pulled out a pair of binoculars and tried to get a handle on what was waiting for them.

"The blinds are closed. Someone expected us- or some member of the study group- to come here."

"But why? I mean, there are hundreds of students. Why are we being singled out?"

"Actually, this happens a lot." Abed put the binoculars down. "For some reason, Greendale's chaos tends to gravitate towards our group. All the more eviden-"

The lights flickered and went out.

"What the hell-?"

A Nerf dart whizzed past Abed's face.

"Get down! Get down!" Troy panicked, pulling Abed down with him behind a book cart.

"You can hide, but you can't run," called a familiar voice.

"Dude, what do we do?"

"Stop freaking out. Get your weapon ready. I'll push, you shoot."

"No, I'll push, and you shoot! _I'm the one in danger here!_ "

"What? Why are you the-"

"Okay, I can hear you guys fighting behind that cart. Come on, out." In the dim light, Troy and Abed could pick out the iconic silhouette of Starburns' top hat. Abed squinted at the rest of the ensemble. He couldn’t tell if he was actually dressed as a magician, or if that was just his normal outfit now.

"Now or never," Abed murmured, and slid out into the hallway, shooting an arc of yellow foam bullets that knocked the hat off of Starburns' head to great dramatic effect.

"Whoa, whoa! Come on, dude. Are you trying to get eliminated?"

"Huh?"

"You can't just shoot people willy-nilly! This is _assassin_. I'm not even here for you." He motioned with his gun at where Troy was hiding.

"Can I shoot back?" Troy asked feebly.

"Did-" Starburns sighed. "You guys didn't even read the email?"

" _I don't do long paragraphs_ ," Abed said an octave deeper than normal, and swung the cart around into Starburn's legs. Troy squealed as his cover was broken.

Starburns toppled into the study room window with an audible _oomph_. It would have looked cooler if the glass had shattered everywhere, but it _was_ just the force of a half-empty book cart. Regardless, Starburns dropped his weapon, and Abed snatched it off the ground.

"Here. Upgrade." He tossed it to Troy. "Now, listen up, Starburns."

"For the last time, my name is Alex! You guys are assholes. I just wanted to play the ga-"

" _Damnit_ , Starburns!" he yelled in his best Kiefer Sutherland impression. In his mind, he pictured a vein popping on the side of his head.

"Wow. That’s a pretty spot-on Bauer.”

"Thanks." Abed politely nodded back at Troy, then thrust the barrel of his pistol back into Starburns' face. "Tell me what you know!"

"I don't know anything! I swear!"

Abed fake-slapped him, and behind him Troy clapped his hands together to make the stunt more convincing. Starburns cowered.

"Liar! I need names!"

"Dude, stop. I'm not totally convinced he's gonna know anything about Chang. He's just playing."

"Oh, no. You guys aren't gonna good-cop-bad-cop _me_. There's no way I'm giving up the secret plan that easily."

"So... there is a secret plan? Involving Chang?" asked Abed, breaking character.

"Uhhhh…." Starburns tried to bolt, but his foot was caught in the wheels of the cart.

"Okay, come on." Troy held out his hand. "If anyone asks, we tortured you."

"Fine," Starburns spat. "This is so not worth it. Chang gave me twenty bucks to stick around the campus and assassinate you. In ex-Chang-ge- hey, his words, not mine- he agreed not to kill me. He has a picture of me with a dart stuck on my forehead sitting in his drafts folder waiting to be sent if I fail him."

"Wait. If he eliminates you, that means…"

"I'm Chang's new target!" Troy covered his mouth in disbelief. "He really _is_ up to something weird!"

"Tell us where he is," Abed said in a gravelly voice, and Starburns flinched as he brandished his gun.

"He's in the stupid basement under the science building." Starburns sighed. "Can I go now? The night is young, and I have twenty bucks."

"Yeah, you're good."

"See you, man."

Starburns hobbled down the hallway, flicking the light switch back on as he exited the scene.

"Cool. Let's go check out the science building," Troy started, but Abed stopped him before he could take a step further.

"Hey. How did you know you were the target?"

"What? I, uh, I don't think I said anything like that."

"You said, and I quote, 'I'm the one in danger here,'" Abed said sternly. "If there's something you're hiding, I need to know."

"Well, Abed, have you considered the fact that you don't _need_ to be involved in every single thing I do?"

"Stop deflecting, this isn't about the AC repair thing."

"Maybe it is."

"Troy, I'm not stupid. Give me your phone."

"What? I don't have a phone!" Troy laughed nervously. "My phone is sitting at the bottom of the Pacific ocean somewhere."

"The one Frankie gave you. Let me see."

Abed reached out, and Troy sidestepped him.

"No!"

"Just tell me who your target is, Troy."

"Okay, but consider this: what if, I didn't tell you, and we never brought it up again?"

"It's me, right?"

"Look-" Troy's shoulders slumped. "I don't care about a fifty-dollar steak dinner. I just thought if you knew, you wouldn't want to help me. Plus, I kinda wanted to just have fun tonight."

"Troy…" Abed pressed his lips into a thin smile. "You don't have to worry about that. We're going to win this thing together and share the prize. That's what being friends is for."

Troy visibly relaxed, and he grinned sheepishly. "You know what I just remembered?"

"What?"

"Check it," he said, and held out his hand. They slapped their hands together and thumped their chests at the same time.

"Awesome." Abed could have skipped all the way to the science building. "I missed that. I missed you."

"I missed you too.” They shared a moment of silence, smiling like idiots, and then Troy took a quick step back, palms sweaty. “I, uh, guess we should probably head out."

"Yeah. And now we only really have to worry about protecting you from Chang." Abed took his hand and they walked back down the corridor, invincible.

04:28:32

04:28:31

04:28:30

"You're sure you can't help me figure it out?" Britta asked, annoyed, as she opened the file cabinet.

"Sneaking you in here is already way more help than you're supposed to be getting." Jeff crossed his arms. "Besides, it's not my fault you don't know which Neil is which."

"Okay, first of all, I wasn't the person who coined Fat Neil. You pretty much ruined any chance of me remembering Other Neil." She thumbed through the student files as quickly as possible.

"And I apologized for that, and we're all friends now. You just can't be bothered to learn anyone's last name because you feel like it would shatter your whole aloof hipster persona."

"Okay, whatever, Winger."

"I don't count. What's Abed's last name?"

"Uh, duh, it's… V… Vader."

"Abed Vader. Really." Jeff paused, then pulled out his phone. "Actually, I gotta text that to him."

"You see Neil's last name every day on your attendance sheet! Can't you just tell me if I have the right Neil?"

"No, because I am a _teacher_ , and I am _teaching_ you a little lesson in taking initiative."

Britta opened her mouth to argue, but her fingers drifted over "Robinson, Neil." She hurriedly pulled the folder out.

"Oh, shit." Britta looked at the picture, distressed. This Neil was tall, black, and bald. "This is bad! I don't know anything about this guy."

"Oh, because you were so buddy-buddy with other-Neil."

"You know what, Jeff?" Britta fumed, snatching her beanie off of her head and throwing it on the desk. "I'm sick of this! You're like, at least ten times as snarky and unhelpful than usual. Why is everyone so against me tonight?"

"I'm not saying it's the bisexual thing, but it's not _not_ the bisexual thing."

"I mean, I thought that was probably inclusive enough, but maybe I should have gone with pan-"

"Semantics are _not_ the issue. Come on, Britta, I know you're not doing this out of an authentic desire to explore your sexuality. If you were, I don't think you'd be acting out and treating Frankie and I like we're the parents of a hormonal teenage you."

“You can’t prove it.”

“Maybe not. But I feel like you would tell your best friends way before you told _Chang_ anything about it.”

"Yeah, well…" She took a deep breath, closing the file and putting it back into its drawer. "Look, I just… l feel left behind. I don't really fit into the group anymore. You guys are all mildly successful teachers and I'm still working for peanuts down at the bar. Almost literally! My boss gave me the overstock in lieu of a raise."

"Wait, is that why we've had pad thai for the last six nights straight? I thought Craig was going through one of his _things_."

"The point is, Jeff, my professional life sucks, and I don't have time to do anything meaningful anymore. What do I even have to offer this group? And, I mean, I'm really glad everyone is able to be themselves, but after you, and then Annie came out… you all have this really important, unique thing in common that you can bond over, and I'm…" She closed the cabinet with a soft _clang,_ squeezing her eyes shut. "The worst."

"How long have you been in this group, Britta?"

"Are you going to Winger speech me now?" she said wryly.

"No. Yes. I'm going to explain to you how important you are to all of us. Britta, your problem is that you are constantly afraid of not making a difference, not doing enough, not being the one to change the world for the better."

"Okay, and?"

"Listen to me. You are _enough_. I know we all poke fun, and maybe sometimes you get too passionate trying to stand up for your causes, but you've done some amazing things in the lives of the people around you. Now, I'm not going to pretend your therapy is legally viable or psychologically effective, but without your support, I might not have even made it to the point where I could be open about my sexuality in the first place." Jeff absentmindedly touched his ring with his thumb. "Britta, we like you the way you are. You don't have to pretend to be something you're not to try and worm your way into some kind of secret club. You're already in. Hell, you're a VIP."

"Aw," Britta mumbled, trying not to let her voice betray how close she was to tearing up. "I just- I guess I just assumed you guys just tolerated me."

"Well, I guess we Britta'd reminding you how much this school needs someone like you." Jeff opened his arms, and Britta hugged him. "Now what do you say? Let's go find Neil."

They stepped into the main hall of the administration building, and almost immediately a yellow dart popped Britta in the face.

"Ow! What the hell?"

"Hah! Got you, whippersnapper!" An old lady stepped out of the shadows.

"Okay, who actually says _whippersnapper_? What is this, a cartoon?"

" _Beverly_?!"" Britta looked at the old woman, then at Jeff, and gestured at him helplessly, mouth agape. “Do something?”

“Of course. Ma’am, if you’d like, I’ll take the picture.”

“Jeff!” Britta gasped indignantly.

“Oh, what a polite young man.” Beverly handed him her ancient flip phone. “Smile, dear, it’s for my scrapbook.”

“And to think I ever considered you my girlfriend.” Britta pouted.

“Life’s a bitch,” Beverly shrugged.

“Well, look at it this way,” Jeff said one awkward photo and target exchange later. “Now you have the rest of the night to do whatever you want. You can even be my helper.”

“Hmm… Can we go bust people for making out in the teacher’s lounge? As much as I'm normally against abuse of power, I kind of wanna bust somebody for once instead of being the bustee.”

“Were it not for the union bylaws, I would be making out in the teacher’s lounge right now.” Jeff held up his phone. “Nah. I think Abed and Troy are up to something across the campus. Something about finding Chang and making him pay?” Jeff shrugged. “Could be a change of pace.”

“Wait, why is he playing?”

“He’s technically a student, since I’m pretty sure fifty percent of his paycheck is class credits. I think right now he’s taking Introductory Dishwashing?”

“Wow. Never let it be said Greendale didn’t prepare its students for their future careers.” Britta scoffed. “Well, that sounds fun. At least picking on Chang will make me feel a little better.”

“Hey. On the way, let’s bust Leonard for starting fires on the quad.”

“Yes! Busted.”


	12. Fratricide 101

03:04:41

03:04:40

03:04:39

Troy felt, fittingly, like a rat in a maze. They had spent the better part of- oh, holy shit, was it already nine? They were no closer to figuring out where Chang was hiding, and Troy's willingness to play the game was starting to wear thin.

The basement of the science building was concrete, dimly-lit, and crammed with all sorts of odd leftovers from various experiments and projects. There were rooms that stored pristine beakers and boxes of chemicals, and then there were rooms littered with yellowed documents and bizarre contraptions. None of the rooms were labelled.

"What do you think this is?" asked Abed, looking up at a mess of differently-sized bicycle wheels connected to some kind of misshapen metal chassis.

"Looks like it belongs in the _art_ department." Troy managed a nervous smile before getting back to picking at the hole in his jeans. He wasn't comfortable here. There were memories throwing themselves against the walls of his brain, and he was afraid of what would happen if one managed to bust out. Everything felt so familiar here, and yet so strange and terrifying. He felt like he wanted to bolt back towards the stairs, out onto the campus where he could breathe again.

"You okay?" Abed put a hand on Troy's shoulder, and he jumped a little bit.

"Would you call me out for lying if I said yes?"

"Probably."

"Are the others coming?"

"Apparently things got heated on the quad, but I got a text from Jeff saying they were on their way."

Troy checked his phone, frowning. "How are you getting service down here?"

"Oh, I'm not. We passed that window a while ago and I checked my messages while you were looking at the mystery goop."

"Right." Troy tried to steady himself. "Sorry, man. This place is just… freaky." He let out a deep breath. "Can't Chang challenge us to a showdown somewhere normal, with fresh air and sunlight?"

"He lived in the vents for a whole season- sorry, a whole school year. This place probably feels like home to him."

"It just feels claustrophobic to me."

"Hey… We have plenty of time until midnight. Come sit down for a sec."

Troy and Abed sat on the cool concrete floor.

"I dunno, man. Maybe we should bail. I have a bad feeling about whatever Captain Hook has planned for us." Troy sighed. "I guess that's not very Jack Bauer of me."

"You've always been more of a reluctant hero, anyways. More of an Arthur than a Ford." Abed took Troy's hand. "Still, we shouldn't give up yet."

"You know, you always do that."

"What?" Abed glanced at Troy with furrowed brows, worried. "Should I dial down the references?"

"No, not that. I mean… you always gotta hold my hand even though we're way too old to be doing that."

"Oh." Abed looked down at their hands. "Well, you left. I'm not letting go this time."

A moment of silence.

"Then… are you going back to L.A.?"

"I don't know."

Another long pause.

"Abed…" Troy said softly. "Honestly, if you want me to quit the stupid A.C. repair school, I will."

"Don't quit the stupid A.C. repair school. That's not fair."

"Well, I don't want you to quit your stupid project in L.A."

"I don't want to do that either." Abed leaned his head on Troy's shoulder, and Troy wasn't uncomfortable with the physical closeness this time. It felt familiar and soothing in the middle of the chaos his brain was desperately trying to keep on lockdown. "Hey, do you remember that episode of _How I Met Your Mother?_ The one where Ted meets a girl at a wedding and they agree to have one perfect night together?"

"How am I supposed to remember that? You’re lucky I remember any of _Inspector Spacetime._ ”

"Okay, well, the details aren't really that important. The point is that they live in the moment and make this incredible romantic memory they can look back on forever as the most special evening of their lives. So… I think maybe we should just focus on the time we have right now." Abed frowned. "I don't really want to think about the future. At least, not tonight."

"Well, I dunno if I'd call sneaking around the science building the perfect evening," Troy grinned, pulling one corner of his mouth tighter than the other. "So, am I Ted or Ted's girlfriend in this situation?"

"Victoria," Abed corrected him, then shrugged. "I guess it's up to you."

"Hey, sit up for a second."

"Okay."

Troy planted a kiss on Abed's lips gently. It was brief, and chaste, and Troy pulled back a little too quickly because his heart was jumping out of his chest. He felt a weird sort of shame wash over him, and almost regretted the whole thing until Abed beamed at him with a toothy smile.

"You know, they don't actually kiss in the episode."

"Yeah, well, obviously I didn't remember that part." Troy tried not to let his smile falter, but he couldn't shake the awful feeling in the pit of his stomach. He wrapped his arms around himself protectively.

"What's wrong? Are you okay?"

"Not gonna lie? This freaks me out. Mostly just being in this place, but also… whatever _this_ is." He gestured between them. "I'm just… scared. I don't know. It was probably- it was probably a dumb idea to do that."

"It's not dumb. I get it. I'm scared all the time." Abed twisted his hoodie string around his finger tightly. "I don't really know how to tell you things the right way. I get so afraid that I'll get it wrong, I stay in my head and don't say anything. I guess being in L.A. and having to socialize with people really exacerbated that."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. I was trying to be relatable and show you you're not alone. I guess that came out wrong."

"No, you're fine, it didn't." Troy said. "I'm still sorry. I mean, we used to be on the same wavelength, right, and I think I screwed that up. In a lot of ways. I'm used to us being together being awesome, and right now I just feel…" He tried really hard to identify his mixed emotions, with no success. "Um. I feel like I just ate three pounds of lemon jello."

"Oh. Yeah, that sounds like anxiety. Can I show you a trick Britta taught me? It always works."

Abed took Troy's sweaty, quivering hand and laid it in his, palm facing up. Troy was so tense that it took a bit of effort to unfold his fingers. Abed traced a shape lightly on his palm.

"What is that?"

"You have to guess."

"It's… a circle?" Abed shook his head. "A letter? The letter O."

"Good."

"That's… P? Q? R. That's S." Troy actually did find himself relaxing. His muscles were sore from adrenaline, and it was difficult to move his arm down from where it had protected his abdomen.

"What's this one?" Abed moved more slowly this time.

"Letter V? A trian- no, it's… a heart."

He traced the shape again, and Troy closed his hand around Abed's fingers. 

That was all.

They sat with their hands clasped like that for a while.

2:53:28

2:53:27

2:53:26

There were voices in the hallway.

"Troy? Abed?"

"Britta? We're here!"

The group reunited in the hallway. Britta seemed a little worse for wear, her face and costume smeared with what looked like ashes.

"What happened to you guys?"

"B story," Jeff retorted. "Anyway, that's not important. What _is_ important is winning this thing, and since I can't technically win, I'm living vicariously through you two."

"I love it when he gets all competitive," murmured the dean to Britta in a wistful voice. Although she was used to it by now, she still flattened her lips together in an awkward line.

"So far, we haven't had any luck." Troy crossed his arms. "I dunno how big this place is, but we've been searching for a whole hour."

"Oh, it's pretty big." Craig raised his hands and gestured as if to emphasize the vast area. "This building was actually renovated in the early aughts, and the head of the science department justified this basement as an additional storage space. Who could have ever known it would become a haven for social experiments for years to come? Jeez, I'd hate to be the guy who got conned into approving _that_ one." He forced a laugh and adjusted his glasses nervously.

"I don't remember ever coming down here," Jeff remarked, looking around at the dingy walls.

"It seems like the kind of thing we would have explored by now," Abed agreed.

"Yeah, because thanks to Annie, our grades were good enough that we didn't have to." Britta shook her head. "Last quarter Professor Duncan had me do an extra credit research assignment down here in some weird attempt at getting in my pants." She rolled her eyes. "Giant underground mazes are definitely _not_ sexy places. I’m just glad I was on the research crew. Garrett got stuck down here for a week."

"So, wait, you know the layout?"

"Nope. But I know exactly where to find it." Britta started down the hall in a decisive stride, and the rest of the group trickled out behind her.

"Okay, I _swear_ this is Duncan’s weird underground office. I didn't Britta it this time." She glared at an empty, discolored spot on the wall. "The floor plan should be here!"

"Letting you have your precious map would be too easy," an all-too familiar voice crackled from the desk in the corner.

"Chang?" Troy cautiously approached the desk, peering into a camera lens. A walkie-talkie was taped to the surface, and beside it was what looked like a repurposed security camera.

"Wow. He's gone full-blown movie villain," Abed said, looking a little too enthusiastic about it.

"Can I just say it took you guys _way_ too long to get to this point? My god, _f_ _inally_. I mean, pick up the pace, people! I'm bored as hell just sitting down here inhaling asbestos and waiting for my master plan to be discovered."

"Okay, can I ask- what is your beef with me? Seriously, what have I done to you to deserve all this weird shit?"

"That's for me to know, and for you to find out- _if you can solve the maze, that is."_ He sounded like a Saturday morning cartoon.

"Chang, this is stupid." Jeff stepped forward. "Just come out and talk to us like adults."

"You’re not my mom, and you can’t tell me-" His voice cracked and the rest of the sentence became unintelligible.

Jeff sighed and tore the walkie-talkie from the table. "Anyone have any ideas on how to solve this thing, or where the hell Chang might be?”

“Well, we could follow the right hand wall-”

“Ugh, Britta. That is by far the most boring way to solve a maze,” the dean complained. “It’s going to take all night, and we’ll lose.”

“Yeah, but this isn’t a fun little Halloween corn maze. This is a puzzle designed specifically to confuse the human brain.”

“Guys,” Jeff interrupted. “Arguing isn’t going to solve anything.”

“I have an idea,” Troy said. “You see these air vents?”

“Well… I don’t think Jeffrey can fit in there, as much as I would love to see him try.” Jeff shot a warning look at Craig.

“We don’t have to physically be in there. What we have to do is figure out where they all meet up. There’s got to be a central heating and cooling system in this building, right?”

“Oh!” Britta beamed. “Troy, you’re an air-conditioning genius. There’s a- a furnace room, or something, in the middle of the maze that manages the temperature. I think I could remember enough of the layout to get us in the ballpark.”

"If we get lost, it's possible we could also try to follow the direction of the vents," Abed pointed out, squinting up at the unfinished ceilings.

“Alright, gang, let’s get going. The sooner we beat Chang, the sooner we can get the map and get out of here.” Jeff led the group out of the office.

??:??:??

There was a point at which the maze seemed too familiar.

Troy wasn't sure what it was that prompted the memory. Maybe it was the rising temperature as they approached what Britta insisted was the way towards the furnace. Maybe it was just him finally going all the way crazy. But the bubble had burst.

He remembered the boat. Except it didn’t make sense for a boat to be this expansive. It didn’t make sense that he was running through long concrete corridors. It didn’t make sense that there were no mechanisms or motors or- or- or boat things. There was nobody there to stop him when he ran. No crew.

He ran and ran until he found a way above deck. And when he reached the surface, he didn’t stop running. He ran until he physically couldn’t run anymore, and he collapsed in a bed of wet grass, and he didn’t care that he was covered in mud and grime because the air was cold and fresh and he could _breathe_.

And there was no ocean. There was no boat.

Obviously.

It was here.

He stopped walking.

“Troy?” Britta touched his shoulder, and he flinched.

He wasn’t capable of explaining himself, so his mouth just stayed half-open. He felt like he was underwater. Everyone’s voices were muffled. His heart pounded in his ears and his lungs struggled to take in air quickly enough. The world was in slow motion, and he was trapped in the guts of the _stupid_ science building, and he was _angry_ but the anger couldn’t stop him from drifting away from reality.

“He’s having a panic attack,” Britta said through the distortion of the water.

“Should we get him out of here?” Jeff seemed actually terrified, which terrified Troy. Jeff was a real adult. Jeff fixed problems twice as often as he created them. Jeff was good under pressure he understood. Not something huge and unknowable like this.

The next thing he could process was that they had stepped into another storage room. It was bigger than the hallway, and that helped. Abed had taken off his hoodie and wrapped it tightly around him, and Britta was crouched directly in front of him. She looked like she was trying to be calm and professional, but her eyes were wide and full of concern.

“Troy, try to focus on your senses, okay? I know this is a really scary place, but we have to calm you down before we can leave.”

“I’m not leaving,” he finally managed. “It was here.”

“It was here?” she asked, confused.

“Oh,” Abed said quietly.

“I... think I know part of what happened. We _have_ to get to Chang now.” Troy took a deep breath, tried to stuff himself back into his own body. “I’m... pretty sure he kidnapped me.”

“What?” Britta’s confusion turned to rage.

“Yeah, I know. Brain freaked, right?”

“Oh, I’m going to do _something_ to his brain when we find him.” She stopped and regained her composure. “Are you sure you want to keep going? We could try to backtrack and call someone to get him out-”

“That could take hours. The fastest way to get out is to get the plans.”

“Abed, not helpful!”

“No, he’s right.” Troy stumbled to his feet. “Plus, I want answers, and I want them now.”

“Alright, fine. I guess I’d probably be a bad therapist if I told you to just avoid the issue, anyway.”

“Aw, Britta. You’re a bad therapist either way, don't even worry about it.” Troy gave her a hug, and she tried not to look offended until after she could make a face over his shoulder at Abed.

“But I’m a great… friend…?” she offered.

“Honestly? The best.”

02:20:49

02:20:48

02:20:47

"Chang, I know what you did."

"Wait. Say the thing."

"Oh. Uh-" Troy pressed the button again and growled into the receiver. _"Damnit, I need answers!"_

"-n you'd know I never meant for this to happen."

"You have to signal that you're done talking," Craig said unhelpfully.

"I need answers, over?" Troy tried.

"-top talking over me while I'm trying to explain myself? C'mon-"

"Sorry."

"What? Don't _apologize_ to him," fumed Britta, grabbing the walkie-talkie.

"-mophobic, if you ask me. Over."

"Okay, listen up. We are _done_ playing around. If you're watching us through the security system, you know we're almost to your dumb lair. Tell us why you tried to kill Troy! Over!" Britta, genuinely furious, was red in the face as she spat into the receiver.

"Oh, I'll tell Troy. But he has to come alone. Over."

Jeff grabbed the radio. "Yeah, no way is that happening."

"Fine. I guess I'll just have to burn up these beautiful, beautiful blueprints I have here in my possession. Over."

"Pfft. What an idiot. I mean, we could just follow the right hand wall until we find the exit," Craig scoffed.

"Wait. I have an idea." Abed looked up at the converging ventilation shafts. "It's going to require some stealth, but I think we can manage it. Jeff, buy us some time. Troy, with me. The rest of you… stay alert, or something."

Troy and Abed disappeared around the corner, and Jeff steeled himself for a moment before pressing the talk button.

02:02:35

02:02:34

02:02:33

The doors opened. 

Chang dropped the radio and trained his rifle on the figure who emerged. He sat on a veritable throne of old folding chairs, biohazard signs, metal containers, and other detritus he'd scavenged that seemed like it could halfway support his weight. 

Troy stepped into the room, hood up and back turned.

"Why are you walking backwards? That's really unsettling and suspicious. Cut it out." Chang's face scrunched up into an expression somewhere between annoyance and concern.

Troy didn't answer.

"Oh, real mature. I kidnap you _once_ , for a _couple days_ , and you give me the silent treatment?"

Troy didn't answer.

"Okay, fine. I'll just carry out the plan. The game- your life- ends here." He raised his rifle, but in that instant was stopped by the sensation of hard plastic on the back of his head.

"You're not ending anything."

The figure in the Troy costume turned around, revealing Abed's stoic expression. Troy pushed the muzzle of his gun further into Chang's scalp.

"How did you get in here?" His voice shook.

"Let's just say we took a page out of the Chang handbook," Abed said, pointing at an open vent behind them.

"Okay, you're going to finally tell me why you did this. And if the answer is 'because I'm a crazy person,' I'm just going to call 911." Chang could hear Troy's finger click softly against the trigger.

"Wait-! I'm not your target! You can't touch me! Not without losing the game!"

"But you know who can?" Jeff appeared in the doorway. "Abed, weapon." Abed tossed him a neon green pistol.

"No, don't! I can explain-"

Jeff stormed up to Chang's throne. "I'm faculty, _bitch_."

An orange dart bounced off of Chang's forehead.

"Ow."

"Well, that was anticlimactic," sighed Abed.

01:53:21

01:53:20

01:53:19

The committee regrouped around the restrained Chang. Jeff had wrapped his hook in bubble wrap on the off-chance it was actually sharp enough to cut the makeshift rope.

"Good news, everyone. I checked, and the gun really is just a Nerf gun. He covered it in black and silver duct tape for added realism." Abed peeled a piece off to reveal neon orange plastic.

"Well, at least that's _one_ attempted murder charge he doesn't have to deal with. Did you really think any part of this was going to go well?" Jeff asked, turning to the man in the chair.

"He's delusional!" Britta barked. "Maybe he thought-"

"You think these flimsy lab coats can restrain me? I am a legend! A tiger!" Chang roared, wiggling uselessly.

"Enough! I'm beginning to regret letting you have a job here, let alone participate in the game!" The dean sat with his hands crossed, fingers spread to show off his long, red nails, still halfway in character as Morticia despite everything.

"Why did you go after Troy like that? You could have killed him! You smashed his boat with a stolen truck!" Britta was, like Abed, clinging to Troy protectively in some attempt to undo what had happened.

"Okay, _smashing_ is a strong word, and I'm sure we can all agree nobody’s perfect-"

"Just tell me _why_ ," Troy pleaded. "I never did anything to you."

"It's not what you did, Troy. I actually like you a lot as a person." Chang's face darkened. "It's what my father did."

"Wait, what?" Everyone seemed confused.

"Jeff, my back pocket."

"Oh, no. I'm not doing that. Not after last time."

"Come _on_ , Jeff!" Britta demanded.

"I'm just saying, it's never not me!" He huffed and tried to do the deed as unobtrusively as possible. After a few seconds, he fished out a slightly-crumpled envelope.

"That's the last letter my mother wrote," said Chang in a tiny, broken voice.

"This had better explain everything." Troy was in no mood for excuses.

"It looks like some kind of angry love letter to his father."

"Yeah. And you know who that happens to be?" Chang paused for effect. "None other than Pierce Hawthorne himself."

Everyone gasped.

"No, he's not." Jeff dismissed it without a second thought. "Pierce told me he was infertile. Or, I guess the phrasing he used was more along the lines of his sperm being too powerful for a mere mortal, but I digress."

"No, exactly. Whose eggs could withstand something that powerful? Only a Chang's."

Everyone nodded.

"I can't believe you guys think any of that is logical. I mean, come on."

"Unstoppable force versus immovable object," Abed interjected.

"When I found out, I was devastated."

 _"That's_ why you've been acting up the past few weeks," said Britta. "I noticed he was being uncharacteristically irritable and weird."

"And yet you did nothing," Chang barked. "Some therapist."

"Hey-" Britta started, but Jeff quieted her.

"Just start explaining. You've dodged the truth long enough."

"Okay, well… I figured I would stand a chance to inherit Pierce's stuff, since Troy wasn't coming back. But then I saw the boat sitting in traffic on 70, and I knew I'd lose everything if he made it to Greendale. So, I tried to stage an accident."

"By running a truck into me?"

"I mean, not to pat myself on the back, but it was a pretty convincing accident, right?"

Almost immediately several angry voices overlapped each other.

"Alright, guys, stop, we'll table that part for further discussion. Chang? Please continue." urged Jeff, decidedly switched into lawyer mode.

"I thought if I could just keep Troy away until he was legally dead, and I could collect everything, it would be all good. I planned to have him _disappear_ again tonight, but you meddling kids couldn't leave it alone." Chang's entire demeanor changed suddenly from sarcastic to enraged, and he turned bright red. "I deserve that money! Pierce used my mom, and never looked back, and never provided for the child he left behind! It should be _mine_! Mine!"

"Okay, hang on." Jeff had been reading the letter during Chang's explanation, and he stopped in the last paragraph. "This doesn't say Pierce."

"What?" Chang knitted his brows, looking up at him. "Bottom of the third paragraph."

"Yeah, that's where I'm looking." He tapped the name. "This says _Pierre_. No last name."

"Let me see." Jeff lowered it so that Chang could squint at the crumpled paper. "That- that could be a C."

"Nope. Not a C." He showed it around the group.

"Oh, god damnit, Ben…" The dean took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. "I don't think I have any other choice but to fire you."

"Fire him! That's the least of his worries!" Britta gestured at Chang wildly. "Look at him! He went crazy over a typo. He's a danger to others and to himself."

"What do you want to do?" Abed asked Troy, who had been uncharacteristically quiet.

"I don't know. Maybe I should press charges."

"You know, he once kidnapped _me_ for weeks, and I never pressed charges. In fact, I enjoyed it immensely."

"Uh, you definitely pressed charges." said Jeff.

"Did I?" The dean grimaced. "Oh, shoot, I think I'm getting that mixed up with a different thing."

"I think," Troy said, letting out a deep breath, "that this man needs help. And, I mean, he's been to jail once-" He looked around the group. "Twice?" He raised his eyebrows. " _Thrice?_ No, okay, the point is, jail sure didn't fix him. I don't want to just send this guy to go rot in a cell. Look at him."

"I'm… I'm French," Chang sobbed, banging his head against the back of the chair in anguish.

The group collectively went quiet for a moment.

"We can't just let him go," Britta protested.

"No, I a hundred percent agree." Troy sighed. "On the off chance that _is_ a C, and Pierce _is_ his dad, which… actually makes kind of a weird sense, he deserves something better than what Pierce left him."

"Well, I think we all deserved better than what Pierce left us." Jeff frowned thinking about the two canisters taking up precious real estate in his freezer. "But go on."

"Chang, you can have part of the inheritance money, but we're going to spend it on taking you somewhere that people can actually help you. Like, a mental hospital or something."

"Can I have it in cash instead?" he whimpered. "I was gonna buy so many helicopters."

"We can talk about helicopters after I'm sure you're not gonna crash them into the school or something," Troy scowled. "You're really lucky I care about you enough to give you a chance."

 _"Stockholm syndrome?"_ Craig muttered at Britta.

 _"Nailed it,"_ Britta whispered at Craig, and they discreetly fistbumped.

"Are you sorry?" Troy asked.

"I don't know. Yes. No." Chang sniffled. "I didn't want to hurt you."

"But you understand that kidnapping me after I had just got done being kidnapped by pirates hurt me anyway."

"Yes. God, I… I am sorry. I'm so sorry."

"Okay." Troy stood and put his hand on Chang's shoulder. "You and me are kind-of-sort-of family in a weird, fucked-up way, so we're gonna look after each other from now on, and I’m gonna try to forgive you for some of this if I can."

Chang- Ben- nodded.

"Okay, but _are_ you family, though?" The dean asked in a critical tone. "I don't think locking your adoptive brother in a science dungeon is normal sibling bonding, my own family dynamic withstanding."

"You know you don't have to go through with this," Britta added.

"Yeah. I don't. But I don't know if I can forgive myself if I don't try to prevent this from happening again."

"He does have a history of recruiting a child army and taking over the school," Abed pointed out. "It's probably better to solve the underlying issue rather than slap a band-aid on the problem and lock him up until he inevitably returns to fight again."

"Okay, half the stuff you guys casually reference is _actually_ _insane_."

"They say truth is stranger than fiction," Abed shrugged.

"I'm still in favor of pressing charges, but I guess it's mostly your decision." Jeff uncrossed his arms. "Let's get everyone out of here, and tomorrow morning, we can call Gilbert and figure out if there's a facility that would take him."

"Does that sound good to you?" Troy asked Chang. "Can I count on you to not try to do something evil?"

"Yeah. I'll try. Not to, I mean."

"Alright. Guess that's all I can ask."

"Are you gonna untie me now?"

"Well, briefly." Jeff re-crossed his arms. "Frankly, I'm pretty sure we're all more comfortable with you restrained."

"Yeah, still not a big fan of the hook." Troy winced as Britta begrudgingly started untying the knots keeping Chang's arms secured. "Seriously, get one of those plastic hands or something."

"No way. The hook is non-negotiable. I haven't had a single student fail to turn in their assignments since I got this thing."

"Hm." Abed looked up from studying the floorplan, absentmindedly twisting the string of his hoodie between two fingers. "You know, part of me feels like there's some semi-vital piece of information we just didn't bother questioning at all in this narrative. Anyone else getting that? Just me?"

"Just you," Jeff agreed. He slipped a finger between the knotted fabric and Chang's arm to check that Britta had tied it firm but not too tight. "Okay, good, that should keep you from doing anything weird until we get back up there." He looked back to Abed. "Spock, navigate us out of this mess."

"Well, actually, Chekov was the navigator. But yeah, sure."

"Hey, if anyone makes a crack about me being Sulu, I'm pretty sure I'm _legally_ _allowed_ to go on another rampage," Chang joked.

Absolutely no one was amused.


End file.
